


Mint Condition

by itsdefinitive



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Casual Sex, Drama, Drug Addiction, Drug Withdrawal, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Existentialism, Gavin Reed Redemption, Kidnapping, M/M, Missing Persons, Murder, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Police Procedural, Red Ice (Detroit: Become Human), Slow Burn, Suspense, Therapy, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2019-07-03 02:15:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 106,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15809262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsdefinitive/pseuds/itsdefinitive
Summary: Reed could see what they were going for there -- the whole infallible super-soldier thing.  A monument to testosterone made perfect, cast in steel within plastic.  It was actually really creepy.  Maybe that was on purpose.





	1. Chapter 1

_i can't seem to face up to the facts_  
_i'm tense and nervous and i can't relax_  
_i can't sleep 'cause my bed's on fire_  
_don't touch me i'm a real live wire_  
__  
(talking heads - psycho killer)  


 

 

Gavin Reed missed the good old days, when he could tell whether or not he was being watched.

He missed casual strolls through his neighborhood, comfortable in the knowledge of how to avoid every piece of surveillance equipment, every cop car, every moment of being stranded out in the open. But now he was a police detective in a re-refurbished Dodge Charger, there was a camera on every intersection, and high rises had erected themselves over his fallen old haunts to tower over the streets and cast them in dimmer light than his own future prospects.

Now anything could be a camera. Any given ceiling tile in the mall. Any innocuous desktop tchotchke. Every third pair of eyes down at the station belonged to an android: most of the secretaries, all of the janitorial staff, the security crew for the evidence locker and the armory. Not an inch, not a single second of his department accommodating of one of the most basic of all human needs: the illusion of privacy.

Like now. The station should have been almost empty this late on a Thursday, leaving Reed to his thoughts, but he couldn't even enjoy that. Anderson and his personal plastic Kato sat at their desks only twenty feet from his own terminal, observable in profile. Anderson fielded the android's never-ending stream of chatter with uncharacteristic patience, seeming totally at ease, even laughing on occasion. Not once did he revert to anything more hostile than mild annoyance. That fact alone was jarring enough.

But every now and again Connor would stiffen and glance Reed's way with those Kodaks for eyes, an unreadable expression on his hateably perfect face. Reed couldn't place the imitation of emotion. Not that there was anything to recognize. Just because the imitation wasn't cheap didn't mean it could fool him. He still couldn't help but analyze the way that LED, visible even from this distance, spun yellow-yellow-blue before he resumed occupying Anderson. Anderson was eating it up. Reed shook his head. It was clearly breathing life into him, being able to ignore reality in favor of getting positive attention from his plastic shadow.

Anderson got suspicious after Connor's first half-dozen furtive looks and followed his line of sight. His face twisted with annoyance when Reed didn't avert his eyes quickly enough.

"Hey, Reed." Anderson was somewhere between tired and aggravated. The light that had been in his eyes was gone. The android kept his attention on his terminal. "Something we can help you with?"

"Doubt that," Reed replied, leaning back in his chair. He propped a foot on his desk. So he'd been caught staring. So what. Thursday nights were _his_ time. Everyone knew that. And it wasn't as if Anderson's caseload was heavy enough to merit his hanging around all fucking night. "Unless there's a reason you're putting in overtime. Coffee social?"

"We're waiting for someone," replied Connor. Anderson gave him the kind of look he usually reserved for Reed in court, the one where he wanted to tell him to shut up but diplomacy dictated he couldn't.

"On a Thursday night?" Reed hadn't meant to ask. It kind of sneaked out. He couldn't help being annoyed. He just wasn't allowed to catch a god damn break. Connor's brow furrowed with the appearance of mild confusion, but before he could speak again, Anderson spread his hand in placation.

"It's quiet."

"It _was_ quiet,” Reed corrected. "Now it's obnoxious."

He didn't miss that Connor's eyebrow rose, that his mouth remained level, that he was stringing ones and zeroes together to resemble irony.

"I'm sorry, Detective," he said in his customary stick-in-the-ass tone. "Next time we'll be sure to consult you for permission before working in the shared area." Anderson snickered.

"Did you just fucking sass me?" Reed shook his head. "Whatever. I'm gonna go smoke." He dragged his feet off the edge of the desk and used the momentum to stand. He was very aware of Connor's eyes following him as he left. Well, fuck that guy.

Come to think of it, he'd barely uttered a word to Connor since the appliance revolution -- more specifically, since Connor had laid him out in the evidence room. It wasn't on purpose. He wasn't -- _scared_ of the plastic idiot. Didn't mean they had to break bread and suddenly be best pals. Especially not with the android strolling right back in here and sticking the landing on a position it had taken Reed years of hard work and sacrifice to attain.

He didn't want Anderson flipping his lid, either. Unpredictable maniac. Sure, he didn't carry the same whiskey cloud with him that he had BCE -- Before Connor Entered -- but that didn't mean he wasn't unpredictable. Some of his old wildness had come back, and while Reed casually mourned the loss of an easy target, he could still admit the result was better. From afar, anyway. No way was he starting shit with the walking talking chemistry set in earshot.

Not having Anderson available to shoot the shit with, even in a prickly kind of way, made the department kind of... lonely. Three months. How had it only been three months? Reed's injuries had finally healed, but his pride still stung. Three fucking months of walking on eggshells. Three incredibly trying months of biting his tongue until it bled. _They're androids, not machines. They're people, not appliances._ Whatever. He'd seen them in vitro, from wires for guts to temptingly perfect formulated faces. The spell held no power over him. He knew exactly what they were.

He pulled on his cigarette slowly, enjoying it. The parking lot was bracingly cold. He took some time to cool down. De-stress. _Remove himself from the situation,_ as the departmental psychologist would say. So he did, and he didn't go back inside until the March air had gotten up the cuffs of his jacket and numbed his hands to the wrist.

When he came back in, there were two Connors.

One was seated at his terminal, elbow on the edge of his desk, listening attentively. The other stood at Anderson's elbow at parade rest, eyes cut to the side to take in the Lieutenant's speech -- and mannerisms, and appearance, and everything else. No, they weren't identical. They weren't even the same breed. Reed slowed his pace as he approached. Pointer Connor stood to offer Rottweiler Connor his chair, but instead the weirdly bulky copy shifted his head a few degrees until his line of sight unpleasantly crashed through Reed's. The LED flashed yellow. So did Pointer Connor's.

"Detective Reed," Pointer Connor unnecessarily supplied. Out of the corner of his eye Reed saw Anderson pick up his head, but Reed couldn't break eye contact with Connor's doppelganger. The differences were suddenly in sharp focus. Wider jaw, wider shoulders, thicker neck -- yeah, real Rottweiler stuff. Reed kept his steady, forced-casual pace to his desk.

"The one and only," Reed replied, eyes flicking meaningfully to Pointer Connor. "Why the fuck am I seeing double, Anderson?"

Anderson fucking _grinned._

"Yeah, how rude of me. Why don't you get on over here so I can introduce you to our new colleague." And there it was -- the sharp-toothed grin was back. Anderson had trimmed his fucking mustache. Hell was surely freezing over as they stood around socially jousting in the bullpen. Reed didn't see much of a choice, but he kept Anderson's desk between himself and the clones.

The big dog spoke first. "Detective Reed, my name is Richard. I'm the RK900 investigative android assigned to work alongside you." Damn, they'd spared no expense dropping some extra bass on this model. _Good thing, too,_ Reed decided. The linebacker aesthetic would look even more asinine with Connor's dopey talk show host voice coming out of it.

"Yeah, welcome to the force," Reed said dismissively. "You'll fit right in." He cut his eyes over to Anderson, not even bothering to sneer. "We done here?"

"Sure, Gavin." The obnoxious sparkle kept playing in Anderson's eyes. Reed felt like there was something going on at his expense. "Carry on, boys, let's get this out of the way before we overstay our welcome."

"As fellow Detroit Police Department personnel, I find it difficult to understand how it is that we could be encroaching on space that Detective Reed has no jurisdiction over." And there it was. Apart from the mood ring on his temple, that thing had almost managed to pretend to be human until it opened its mouth. Beautiful.

The quiet embarrassment in Connor's voice took him by surprise. "It's an expression, Richard."

"Let me guess," Reed grinned. He couldn't help himself. "Another prototype." Just a bit mocking. Just a little push, to remind Connor that he wasn't actually that many updates removed from being factory fresh himself. "Don't worry, Ricky Robot, you'll be a real boy in no time."

Connor Two's eyes definitely narrowed. His mouth definitely tightened. And he definitely tipped his head back marginally to look down his perfectly straight nose at Reed. "A comedian."

Reed looked between the three of them -- Real Connor's face was serious, and Anderson's grin was still shit-eating -- and felt white-hot fury bubble up in his stomach. Fuck this guy. Fuck this self-important vending machine. "No pun intended, _Rick._ Maybe take a psychology class before rolling up in my house and shitting all over everything."

Richard RK900 Robot didn't move. His eyes were light, Reed noticed belatedly. Much lighter than Real Connor's. Grey, maybe. _Moonstone,_ his mind inexplicably filled in. Reed hated the way they bore into him.

Anderson was still smiling, like he was thinking of a private joke.

Reed hated that, too.

"The fuck is so funny, Anderson?"

"Oh, just thinking." Anderson's hands went into his pockets. Casual move. Setting up for a punchline. Reed tracked his progress around the corner of his desk, his slow approach, unbothered by Reed's obviously riled temper. "Just remembering a little chat I had with Fowler the other day. I'm sure he'll fill you in on all the little details tomorrow." His hand fell heavily on Reed's shoulder. "In the meantime, how about you get over here and help your new _partner_ with his intake paperwork."

There was a loud silence.

Reed smiled. "Repeat that?"

"Richard is our newest investigator for homicide," Anderson explained slowly, as if to a child. "He starts tomorrow morning, oh-nine-hundred sharp. You'll be on time, won't you, Richard?"

The android inclined his head in agreement.

"Great," Anderson exalted. His hand slid companionably to the middle of Reed's back, and he steered him firmly over to Real Connor's terminal. "Have a seat," he insisted. Reed sank into the uncomfortable swivel chair. It was sized for Connor's longer legs instead of Reed's stage two lower back problems. Sitting in it made him feel distinctly -- the word took a moment to come to him. Contrasting himself like this made him uneasy. Distinctly _human,_ he finally decided.

"You want me to what," he said belatedly.

"Richard needs someone with clearance to help him onboard."

"It shouldn't take long," Connor assured him. His tone was more weirdly artificial than usual. Anxiety, Reed realized. The robot was exhibiting _anxiety._ Fucking unreal. He tried to push back, but Anderson's hand remained locked on the chair. From the feel of things he'd even stuck his foot behind one of the legs to prevent rolling.

"Cool," Reed replied, keeping his arms folded. "Not my job."

Anderson smiled at Connor, whose LED had shifted back to yellow, yellow, then blue again.

Reed was really starting to hate that fucking smile. He liked it even less when Connor's expression shifted to Investigator Bot 3000.

"Is it that you won't, Detective Reed, or that you can't?"

Reed scoffed. "Can't, won't, what's it matter? I'm not helping Steely Dan clock in."

"Because if you won't, you're just being typical Reed." That stung a little, he couldn't lie. Connor's hands went into his pockets in a posh imitation of Anderson's lazy slouch. "But if you can't, then that supports the point Richard made about your rank."

Reed regarded Connor with a lack of expression for a long moment before looking up over his shoulder at Anderson. "Seriously?"

"Thank you, Connor," Anderson said in a long-suffering tone. "That's what I was getting at." He leaned over Reed. "So if you _won't_ make things run smoother and you _can't_ do it anyway, I suggest you mind your own business and get back to whatever the hell it is you do around here." He released his hold on Connor's chair.

Reed stood like he'd been struck by lightning. He straightened his jacket and gave Anderson a filthy look, intentionally ignoring the two androids standing side by side wearing the same artificially blank expression. _Please insert card and follow instructions on PIN pad._ Well, fuck 'em. He only had eyes for the Lieutenant in that moment. "Fuck you," he spat, prodding Anderson's thick chest with two fingers.

Anderson fucking smiled again 

Reed withdrew his hand and returned to the relative safety of his own desk. Anderson was starting to weird him out. He lowered himself into his _normal-sized_ chair and leaned back, frowning, nagged by the sinking feeling he was forgetting something.

Wait. _Wait._

Partner!

Reed quietly seethed at his desk for the better part of an hour before leaving. No way was he going to let them think they ran him off. When the clock flipped over to eight he slipped out of his chair and headed for the exit. He glanced over his shoulder in time to catch Richard's steely eyes boring into him. Appraising him. Measuring him for a pine box.

Unreal. Just when he'd gotten used to Connor's creepy ass. Reed shivered his way back to his car.

He went home to his empty ground-floor apartment and fed the stray cat that immediately ran out of the dark treeline to rub against his ankles. They had an understanding, him and that cat. Reed fed the unneutered orange bastard and in return it sprayed the side of his house in order to maintain exclusive access. No matter how cold it was, he wouldn't come inside, but he would join Reed on the stoop when he smoked. They had a good system. In a lot of ways, aside from the police department and the city itself, that cat was Reed's only constant.

Ugh. Depressing. He lit up his third cigarette of the night and nursed it until the cat that wasn't his ambled away to lie under his car, visible only as reflective pinpoints for eyes. Reed ensured the half-smoked cigarette was out completely and dropped it into an ash-filled coffee can near the door before going inside and locking up.

Partner. That had to be a joke. Had to be. Anderson never had been good at those.

He shucked off his shoes and jacket by the door and dug yesterday's leftovers out of the refrigerator. Lo mein was simple enough to eat cold, something he didn't even have to bother sitting down for. The high-school-athlete-Reed living on in eighteen-year-old glory in the back of his head nagged him about sodium and grease, but Reed shut it down the way he would any external criticism and went to bed to undress and drop into a dreamless sleep.

\---

Reed woke up at about three, an hour before his alarm was set to go off. He cast around in the darkness for his phone and squinted at the time. Why the hell was he awake? Like, wide awake, not a trace of grogginess. Just a cold sense of dread and dulled anger swirling in his gut...

It came trickling back after a moment of staring at the ceiling. Right. Staff meeting. New partner. Connor's pro-wrestler little brother. Hot fury shifting and rolling in his stomach, lapping at his esophagus, making his hands twitch. Reed laid there a few more moments, trying and failing to drift off again. Hank Anderson's deep, raspy laugh filled his mind's ears. No one could sleep like that. No way.

He stiffly dragged himself to the shower and washed up. The cold air in his apartment made it tempting to turn up the heat and linger there a while, but he didn't want the small luxury to be ruined by the shock of reality.

He washed his face in the bathroom sink. He had been planning on shaving, but now there was no way he was showing up to a staff meeting fresh-faced knowing what was in store. He refused to look like a kiss-ass. Which really put a damper on things, with his stubble untamed enough to itch as his skin cooled. 

Reed pulled on a fresh black shirt and the same jeans as the night before. They were still weighed down by his wallet, badge, and knife. Breakfast was a single cup of coffee sipped instead of bolted. His sudden-onset insomnia had even left him with enough time to rinse the cup. Maybe there was something to be said for early rising.

His shoes, holster, and jacket were still draped artfully across the living room. He gathered them up and lit a cigarette while his car warmed up, stomping occasionally to keep his ankles from stiffening. Winter got harder every year. He wasn't sure if that was climate change or mortality setting in. Thirty-six felt a little early for that, but maybe he was just lucky. Current literature put life expectancy at 91, but he was pretty sure he'd read somewhere that life expectancy was linked to birth year, so as far as he was concerned those 2039 babies could go get fucked.

It wasn't a long drive, but it was just long enough that the heat in Reed's car was approaching comfortable as he passed gate security and pulled into the precinct's side lot. He checked the time: six and change. Goddamn meeting wasn't even until seven. He idled for a few more minutes, dicking with his phone, wishing he was out on a case. Anything that wasn't waiting to hear news he already knew about. Maybe that was part of Anderson's game, too -- driving him insane with petty acts of water torture. He was really starting to hate that washed-up old fuck. Like, really hate him.

He strongly considered another cigarette, but he was down to two and figured he would need one immediately after the godforsaken staff meeting.

Reed strolled inside with fifteen minutes to go and was completely unsurprised to see Anderson and Connor already exchanging lovesick looks over the divide between their desks, just like they had every day for the past month. It was disgusting. "What happened to you, Hank," he muttered to himself, sinking into his chair.

Across the room, Richard picked up his head and met Reed's eyes again. Reed froze. There was no way in hell Richard had heard him. Was there? Reed had no way of knowing. It put him on edge. Richard looked away before Reed could even get a proper sneer going. There was what looked like a faint smile on his mouth.

Fucking androids. Reed hauled himself up and slouched past all three of them into the kitchenette to help himself to more coffee. The first drops had just fallen into the cup when Fowler's voice boomed command-strong through the bullpen.

"All right, let's go," he called. A loose ring of bodies formed around him. _Not even gonna wait for stragglers? He really wants to roll through this,_ Reed observed. _Wonder why._ Fowler gestured to the only unfamiliar face in the room -- the face that was too familiar. Richard came to stand next to him, gently taking over the room with his broad-shouldered stature without trying. _Got that alpha male height,_ Reed bitterly noticed.

"This is Richard. He's the RK900 sent over by the Department of Defense so he can teach our investigation procedures to the android personnel in his unit." Richard inclined his head by way of greeting.

"The more astute among you might notice a family resemblance to Connor," Fowler continued dryly. There was some snickering, mostly good-natured. _Yeah,_ thought Reed, _they're the fucking Doublemint twins._ Richard, though, towered imposingly next to Fowler in a way Connor couldn't have if he'd tried. "The RK900 model was commissioned by the Department of Defense before Cyberlife stopped production."

Under the bright office lights, their differences were more pronounced. Richard's skin was flawless. He looked like a 'roided-up supermodel. Reed could see what they were going for there -- the whole infallible super-soldier thing. A monument to testosterone made perfect, cast in steel within plastic. It was actually really creepy. Maybe that was on purpose.

"Reed, you'll be partnered with him for the duration. Show him the ropes. Make sure the Pentagon knows they can trust the DPD." The room suddenly fell pin-drop silent. A few people were even daring enough to turn and look at Reed, gauging his reaction. _They're waiting for fireworks,_ he realized. _They're waiting for a show._

He folded his arms and, just like that, refused to give it to them.

And they lost interest. Just like that. Jesus.

"Dismissed," Fowler said, dispelling the tension. "Reed, my office."

He followed Fowler grudgingly, taking his sweet time, leaving his boss to wait at his desk. To Fowler's credit, he barely seemed to notice. He reached for a file, made a few highlights, generally ignored Reed's demeanor until the office door swung shut behind him. He indicated for Reed to sit, but Reed pretended to miss the cue.

"Short meeting," Reed commented.

"Thought I was going to need more time to get you folks settled down," Fowler said. It was clear in the way he said _you folks_ that he meant _you, Gavin Reed, specifically._ "Would have thought your reaction would be more colorful," Fowler prodded.

Reed gave him a long, stony silence before responding. Kept his voice slow and even. Gave him the whole drawn-out nine yards. "The way I see it, it's like a prison sentence. The faster I serve it, the less time I spend in it."

Fowler's expression changed from its usual grim collection of horizontal lines to a more pleasantly surprised configuration. "I guess therapy's doing you some good after all, Gavin."

"Come on, boss, why me? How'd I end up on your shit list?"

"It isn't that big of a deal. It's six months at most. You're good at what you do, Gavin, but your ability to adapt to social change has always been for shit. If you're actually serious about pursuing rank, you need to accept the responsibilities that come with it and play the game the way it's meant to be played."

Reed scoffed. He did actually know his boss was right, that if he ever wanted to make lieutenant he was going to have to make some sacrifices to match. He wanted the rank. He really did. It was just that when push came to shove he wasn't willing to take a hit to his ego for the sake of something as intangible as future gains. Or at least, that was what Eliza had told him last week.

The captain interrupted his introspection. "Any questions?"

He bit back half a dozen things he _really_ wanted to say and shook his head. "Sounds straightforward enough."

"Good," Fowler said, but his tone held a warning. He handed Reed the file on his desk. "Here's something to get your feet wet. And I mean it, Gavin, do not start shit with that android."

Reed gave him a terse smile, but had the good sense to just take the file and leave. He didn't even slam the door, just cut an immediate, if unwilling, path back to his desk. His new partner was already seated at the desk across from his, flicking through data on the terminal without touching the keyboard. Reed really didn't like it. He liked it even less when he cursed under his breath a good dozen feet away and that military-grade asshole looked up expectantly.

"Detective Reed," he said in that weird off-brand Connor tone. Flatter, fuller, deeper. _Harder, better, faster, stronger,_ Reed's brain obnoxiously autocompleted. "I trust Captain Fowler filled you in on the situation. I took the liberty of having a look at your file before I left Washington."

Reed stilled. No privacy. He knew any human could have looked up his records, but it was somehow different when an android did it. Unsettling. Instantaneous. A breach. He eyed Richard neutrally. "And?"

"Your record is impressive." Somehow it wasn't a compliment or an insult. Just a statement of fact. Reed would rather it have been one or the other. "A lot of your cases have been solved using unorthodox methods. That's exactly the kind of insight I'm looking for."

"Cool," Reed said tonelessly, and tossed the file onto Richard's desk. It landed at an unpleasant angle. "Start by reviewing this." 

"Where are you going?"

"Got an appointment." Richard's mouth shifted to a mild frown and his temple glowed yellow. Probably checking Reed's fucking day planner. Reed turned to go, unwilling to deal with his new burden's Mr. Roboto journey, and --

\--was that his cup of coffee sitting on his god damn desk?

He eyed it distrustfully. Slid his gaze to Richard without turning his head.

"You left it in the kitchenette," the android explained, not looking up from the file in his hands. "Wasting it seemed pointless."

Reed walked away. He did _not_ take the coffee.

\---

One cigarette and ten minutes later, he knocked on a thick wooden door labeled LT E. SHAW. He took the muffled noise from beyond as an invitation and forcefully shoved it open.

"So I--"

"Detective," Eliza calmly interrupted, "good to see you. Did you want to set up an appointment?"

Reed put a hand up to indicate cooperation with her unspoken request and took a minute to calm down. It was easier now than it had been just a few months ago, when Eliza had put up with more... physically expressive abrasiveness. Okay, _tantrums._ Things had been thrown, at any rate. Mostly by Reed. He honestly wasn't ashamed of it. Maybe that attested to a lack of real personal growth. He was having a hard time caring right then.

"Do you have a moment _now?_ " His teeth were still clenched, and the words sounded like they'd been glued together in a meat packing plant, but it would have to do."

"Shut the door and sit down."

Reed didn't like being told what to do. She _knew_ he didn't like being told what to do. It was a test, pure and simple. One she didn't expect him to pass. _Well, fuck her,_ he thought obstinately, and didn't even slam the door on his trek back across the room. He took a seat and folded his arms, slouched defiantly, booted feet firmly planted an angry distance apart.

"You've got twenty minutes. Now tell me why you came in here like a bat out of hell."

"I got a new partner. _An android,_ " he spat. It was even worse to address it aloud than it was to just know it.

"Right," Eliza agreed. "Richard. The RK model from the Defense Department."

That stopped Reed in his tracks. The gears turned, sputtered, groaned to life. "You knew about this?"

"It went through me for clearance first, Gavin."

"Fuck, Eliza! How am I supposed to work with you if you don't tell me anything?"

She didn't comment on his repetition of the point she had posed repeatedly their first few weeks together. He was -- grateful. Now _there_ was a foreign emotion. She just sat there and waited expectantly. When it was clear he wasn't going to get a rise out of her, he cleared his throat.

"I mean. You couldn't have given me a heads up? Seriously?"

"What, so now you're asking for special treatment?"

"I'm asking you to not make my life any fucking harder than it already has to be!"

"Please," she scoffed. "Your life isn't hard. You show up to your salaried job and go home to your cat."

"It's not my cat."

"You have zero outside responsibilities, Gavin, you don't even talk to your family. I'm not even being mean. These are all things you've said."

"Quit trying to distract me. It isn't gonna work."

"You came into my office unannounced to yell at me for doing my job. I think I'll do whatever I want."

Reed scowled. "Remind me why the fuck I even have to talk to you again?"

"Because you made it clear you're either unwilling or unable to play well with others if things aren't going one hundred percent your way, and _does not play well with others_ isn't an acceptable trait for a detective to have."

"I get results. Always have. None of this android revolution crap is gonna change that!"

"You can barely cope with android coworkers, Gavin. How are you supposed to handle these new circumstances in the field? How can you be trusted to do that? You can adapt or you can be made obsolete, but it's no one's choice but your own."

 _Obsolete._ He hated that word. He shifted uncomfortably, elbows dropping to his knees, hands hanging loose between them. It only fractionally closed the space between him and Eliza, but it was enough of a concession for her to lay off.

"If he gives you any _actual_ trouble you can make a report directly to Captain Fowler. But he isn't going to, Gavin. He's an android. He was made for a specific purpose. And things are different now. He was assigned to this precinct because he wants to do this kind of work, not because he has to."

"Yeah, I'm sure every single android in the workforce is gonna be a one hundred percent model laborer."

She laughed, a little unkindly. "People that start at the bottom of the stack don't have the luxury of fucking around. Not that I'm surprised you didn't notice."

He turned his unhappy look to the floor this time, but could still feel her judgment. She let an uncomfortable moment pass.

"So you just don't shave anymore, is that it?"

He irritably ran a hand over his jaw. "Forgot."

"You need to get that thing under control before it's a depression beard," she said, eyes twinkling.

"I'm going back to work," Reed suddenly proclaimed, shooting to his feet."

"See you Tuesday, Detective."

\---

Reed didn't slow his place until he was nearly on top of his desk. Richard seemed unfazed. He was interfaced with his terminal, fingertips stark white where they rested against the keyboard. "Missing persons case," he said by way of greeting, inclining his head toward the file. Their file.

 _What, he's gonna just pretend like I wasn't even gone?_ Reed shook his head. "Missing? Not even kidnapped? I'm more of a 'violent crimes' kind of guy."

"There is a dead human, if that piques your interest."

"See, say _that._ " Reed picked up his car keys.

"A missing person takes priority over a dead one. At least, it does in my estimation." Richard sounded... well, he sounded _indignant._

"Give it time," Reed advised him darkly. "Active tragedy is a real downer compared to going out and playing connect-the-dots." He strongly considered leaving the android there, but when he glanced over at Fowler's office he saw that the captain was already watching him, hard-eyed, as if he knew what Reed was planning. Of course he did. Reed prided himself on his lack of subtlety, but it sure did come back to bite him in the ass sometimes. Richard just sat there, waiting patiently, the way Connor used to back before he was Connor full-time. _Power save mode,_ one of the officers had called it.

Fine. They wanted him to babysit? He'd fucking babysit.

"All right, Inspector Gadget, unwad your panties and let's get going."

Richard was Reed's silent shadow through the precinct and down into the parking lot. Honestly, it was spooky. He was at least six feet and two hundred pounds, if androids carried weight the same as humans, but he was nightmare quiet. Not even the odd echoing footfall. But, hey, there was no small talk, and that was sweet relief. Reed cranked the volume on the first rock station that wasn't on a commercial break and pointed the car toward Woodbridge.

The whole way there he refused to look at the affront to morality in his passenger seat. Fourteen, almost fifteen years as a cop, putting in the work, making the sacrifices, and this plastic shitbag could just show up and do his job. And his coworkers fell for it hook, line, and sinker. A full _third_ of the city unemployed and whoop! There goes Anderson, normally so analytical, taken in by charming_wink.exe. _And now there's two plastic cops._ Reed shook his head and channel surfed to escape a CyberLife Store commercial.

He'd barely known the guy for twelve hours and there were plenty of things that proved Richard was still just a machine no matter how lifelike he seemed. Reed had been watching those tells his whole life and there was no dismissing them. Richard's lack of proportional reaction to any news whatsoever. Things just didn't bother him the way they should. His voice was too formal, too clipped, not right for interacting with their -- with _Reed's_ colleagues. And, of course, his perfect appearance at all times. No dishevelment after multiple flights of stairs. Reed hadn't ever seen him have to adjust the tuck of his shirt. His hands were perfectly still in his lap.

It didn't even bother Richard that he was wearing someone else's face.

Reed shook himself out of his thoughts and started hunting for building numbers, since the  
six foot GPS by his side apparently wasn't going to lift a finger. He pulled up along the curb when he found it. Honestly, he should have just looked for police tape, because there was plenty of it.

"Weird," he murmured absently. "This is Hank's old apartment building."

Richard finally looked over at him. Reed caught a split-second glimpse of yellow. Before he could even consider making Richard stay in the car, the android was already advancing up the front walk, leaving Reed to trot in his wake to catch up. He wasn't gentle when he grabbed Richard by the shoulder.

"Hey, _rookie,_ " he snapped. "Age before beauty."

"My apologies, detective," Richard said in the least apologetic tone possible. He waited for Reed to pass before following far too close for the detective's comfort.

Ben Collins was waiting for him in the apartment vestibule. When Richard took up the doorway behind Reed, the man did a double-take. "Reed, good morning," he recovered quickly. "You're here sooner than I expected. We haven't finished tagging everything."

Reed acknowledged him with a casual wave. "Your dead guy leave yet, or can I ask him a couple questions?"

Collins gave up a humorless chuckle. "He didn't mention any plans. New partner?"

"Temporary," Reed assured him. "Let's take a look at what we got." He bypassed Collins and climbed the short flight of steps to the apartment in question.

"Detective Collins, I'm Richard," he heard behind him. There was a note of apology in that annoyingly smooth voice.

"Call me Ben. You're the young man sent by the Pentagon, isn't that right?"

Fuck, did everyone know about this but him?

Reed shook his head and went inside. The first thing he noticed was, of course, the smell. Thick. Cloying. It could have been worse. Didn't change that a dead body had been cooped up in here for several days. Even airing out for several hours hadn't really done much to improve it, although at least the air wasn't stale. There was a lot to be said for not being first on the scene.

Reed skirted around the personnel still photographing and recording evidence to get his own read on the situation. The apartment was in an economically average part of town and had an average amount of clutter. Dead body, check: male, average build, late thirties, naked at his kitchen table. Cause of death, check: gunshot wound to the center of the forehead, small caliber, exit wound the size of a basketball court. The victim was propped uncomfortably in one of the average kitchen chairs, head tipped back, face twisted in shock. The last thing he saw had probably been the gun that killed him. No blood anywhere in the kitchen except for what had dripped from the body. No weapon in sight. No sign of a struggle. And why the hell was he naked?

Richard was abruptly beside him, and it took everything in Reed's power to keep from leaping out of his skin. He pressed past the android to check the refrigerator and get his heartrate under control. Leftovers. Gallon of milk, partially consumed, still well within the sell-by date. Everything about the apartment was incredibly regular. Lew Saunders didn't even seem like the sort of guy to even get mugged, and yet here he was, firmly in the category of _weirdly murdered._

"Detective Collins says there are no signs of forced entry," Richard finally said.

Reed pawed through the cabinets and drawers. Average number of mugs. Average amount of takeout menus. He opened a window to let some light in. Maybe get a crossbreeze going with the door. "Okay, so? You verify that yourself?"

Richard frowned. It was little more than a tightening of the mouth. "No."

"What's the point in all those fancy sensors if you're gonna take someone else's word for it?" Reed lowered himself into the chair across the table from Lew's body. "I trust Ben with my life, but you're half a foot taller than him. You might see something he didn't."

Richard paced off into the house, leaving Reed to contemplate the lack of evidence. No blood. No weapon. Not even a business card. Obviously Lew had been killed elsewhere and then taken for a ride.

"Rough day, huh?" he addressed the body.

He listened to the quiet chaos of early lunch traffic. The crossbreeze cooled the stuffy apartment to something more tolerable. Sweet relief; he'd been working up a sweat in his leather jacket, but there was no way he was hanging it up anywhere in this petri dish. Richard looked completely unbothered by it. The stench, the heat, the lack of evidence -- all of it. It frustrated the hell out of Reed. Yeah, why should an android care that a human got murdered in what was seeming more and more likely to be cold blood? After their revolution these pricks had to be ready to see some shit go down. Reed knew if it were him, he would be.

He impatiently craned his neck to look for Big Connor. "You find anything?"

When Richard came in, his face was more troubled than Reed expected it to be. "Nothing notable," he admitted. "The windows are locked and have not been opened in weeks. The front door was unlocked and the keys were on the entryway table. There are no indicators of forced entry and no signs of a struggle. If it weren't for the obvious, I'd be prepared to assert no crime was committed."

"Any reason you can think of for him to be naked?"

"Without any directly related evidence, I'm unable to run a reconstruction of the events."

"So take a wild shot in the dark."

Richard frowned and approached the body. For a horrible second Reed was sure he was going to have to watch the Pentagon's after-school project put a dead guy's bodily fluids in his mouth. But he stopped just short of Lew and looked him over. "The murder wasn't committed here, that much is obvious. The victim was killed elsewhere and brought home. You likely can't see this, but there is antemortem bruising on his wrists and knees. In combination with the gunshot wound I would say he was shot execution-style and then his clothing removed to help obscure evidence."

"I'll just go ahead and take that to mean there was no weird sex stuff involved. You find anything else I likely can't see?"

"Thirium," Richard dutifully replied. "In a few locations between this chair and the door."

Reed scowled. "How the hell is that not evidence?"

"It isn't a match for any android in the database. In fact, it doesn't have any identifying flags at all. Additionally, the splatter is very unnatural. These deposits aren't the result of an injury; they're intentional, and are likely from someone sprinkling raw thirium around in imitation of defensive wounds."

"Then they're actively trying to obscure shit."

"That's a possibility."

"Great. Love it." He wanted a cigarette fifteen minutes ago. _Focus._ He flicked his thumb over his phone and brought up the case file. "On to part two."

"The kidnapping victim?"

"Yeah, Naomi Saunders. Right? The wife?"

"Naomi and Lewis were engaged, not married, but yes -- they were romantically involved. She is a former employee of a gym he frequented." Perfect switch in tense. Naomi _does_ things. Lew _did_ them. It was uncanny.

"Same last name, though? That's a little weird." He flipped through the photos on Lew's social media. It was the same #relationshipgoals photos across multiple venues: the dead man with his arm around the same pretty brunette while they beamed at dinner, a museum, a theater, a cafe. He paused on a formal photo. Lew in a suit and tie, brandishing an award at the camera, grinning. Naomi by his side in a fancy dress, long hair pulled back from her face--

"Wait, I thought you said missing person," Reed groaned.

"I did."

Reed slid his phone across the table to show Richard the picture. A cool blue ring of light stood out on Naomi's temple. "Notice anything, bright eyes? This is an android, not a human."

"And she's a person," Richard said, tone clipped. He turned away. Something unfamiliar flitted across the back of Reed's throat.

He lit that cigarette.

"What else do you know?"

"I know that environmental tobacco smoke can directly interfere with the integrity of the crime scene by obscuring evidence and causing premature equipment failure."

"You also know I don't care."

He expected uncomfortable Connor-style silence. _Sorry, Lieutenant,_ he mocked in his head. Instead, Richard sneered at him. "How much more time do we need to devote to making you feel important?"

"The hell did you just say to me?" Reed pushed his chair back and got up slowly. God, he could go for a fight. That familiar tension, the white heat of adrenaline, rolled comfortably through his body. It felt good; absence really did make the heart grow fonder. Reed welcomed it. His cigarette slowly consumed itself in his fingers.

"We have a murder and a possible kidnapping to solve. I'm trying to put us on a more efficient timeframe. Do you think twenty minutes is a sufficient sacrifice to your puerile nonsense? I'd like to get it down to ten, but I'm willing to agree to an adjustment period." 

"Fuck you."

"That wasn't rhetorical, Detective. I'm willing to make sacrifices to make this assignment work. I have a high tolerance for exactly your kind of bullshit, so the least you could do is take honest advantage of it."

Now _those_ sounded like fighting words. Sure enough, Richard wasn't braced, but he wasn't in a lax stance, either. His hands were loose by his sides instead of gently clasped behind his back in parade rest. Did he really fucking think Reed was gonna fight him in the middle of a crime scene?

It was pretty tempting. Reed let the silence draw out, slowly drumming his fingers on the tabletop.

"So apparently we both decided it was a kidnapping. Why? There's no signs of a struggle. Maybe she just left."

"The thirium. It isn't Naomi's. If Naomi killed Lew, the act of intentionally sprinkling thirium around the crime scene does nothing to benefit her. If she ended her engagement with Lew, she wouldn't have left all her belongings here. Something has prevented Naomi from coming home."

"Maybe she counted on that logic to give her an alibi. Could have been a contract killing."

"With what income would she purchase a contract? Naomi is a minimum wage worker."

"Sexual favors? Maybe she let someone else have a piece of that so she could get out from under ol' Lew, huh? It ain't exactly unheard of."

"I won't rule it out," Richard said reluctantly. "But I think that's making things overly complex. To our knowledge, this is a picture perfect couple."

"Except for the murder and the kidnapping."

Richard inclined his head. "Except for that."

"Chances are no one saw anything at all, seeing as the killer managed to sneak an entire naked fucking dead guy in here."

"No witnesses have come forward and they aren't known to have any enemies." God, it was like having Google standing next to him. Shame he didn't have any actual goddamn answers. "What do you propose we do from here?"

"You're asking me?"

"You _are_ the senior officer."

"You're goddamn right I am," Reed muttered. He crooked a finger at Richard and headed for the car. "Neighbors know where to bring their statements if they miraculously come up with something. The stuff Fowler forwarded me says Naomi was last seen leaving her job at a local coffee shop to go home. She didn't show up for work yesterday. Let's go have a little chat."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I really just prefer it this way."
> 
> "It's a classic cause of workplace burnout," Richard said sincerely.

_the deception with tact_  
_just what are you trying to say_  
_you've got a blank face, which irritates_  
_communicate, pull out your party piece_  
__  
(the fixx - one thing leads to another)  


  


 

The drive to the coffeeshop Naomi worked at was one Reed could have navigated in his sleep from anywhere in the city. It was his usual stop on mornings where he had extra time but was too lazy to make his own coffee. Besides, they had breakfast sandwiches. If there was one thing Reed hated more than skipping breakfast it was making breakfast. Too bad that was outside the scope of his visit today.

He really didn't want to go in there with that tall bastard on his heels. No point trying to get him to wait in the car, though. Richard had already proven he was a mission-first, orders-later kind of android, and Reed didn't really feel like losing such a minor fight right at the moment. He parked the worn Charger in the usual space and wordlessly got out. The car was a 2025 model, sleek and intimidating in its prime but now a little beaten up, a little out of fashion even if the engine did run just fine, a good reflection of how Reed felt next to the fucking Terminator that climbed out of the passenger side. Shiny and new. Steely. Fucker couldn't even get skills fade.

He'd have to get the car detailed when he had the time. Get some of the burrs and dents in the paint buffed out. Just -- get her back in prime condition again.

He swung through the door without bothering to hold it, but _of course_ Richard was following him closely enough to slip through effortlessly. It was emptier than usual. Gave him the room to outpace the robot sent by his boss for the sole purpose of plunging him into an existential crisis. His usual barista lit up upon seeing him.

"Hey, Gavin! You have company today?"

"Richard's in training," Reed said vaguely, trying to remember the guy's name without obviously looking at his nametag. Ken? Kevin, he decided. Just who he'd wanted to talk to. He'd seen him take breaks with Naomi; they would sit at the bar and quietly laugh over whatever was on their phones.

Probably Kevin turned his bright smile on Richard. The angle wasn't immediately telltale, but if Kevin knew Richard was an android he didn't seem to care. "I don't think he's ever come in with a co-worker before. He's such a lone wolf."

Richard smiled. It was slow, confident, sincere. His head tilted _just_ so. Brightness even played in his eyes. _The wonders of modern technology,_ Reed thought, warily watching him. Ugh. It was a good smile, too. "I'm much the same," Richard said in that obnoxiously velvet voice.

That voice was starting to have an effect on Kevin, who looked a little fluttery, like he was meeting a celebrity. Hell, Reed could almost see himself getting kick-started over that kind of attention if he didn't already know better. Handsome prick. He interjected before they could gain any steam. "Quiet in here today."

"Yeah, it's been slow. Did you want your usual?"

"Actually, I'm here to ask about Naomi Saunders. You think there's somewhere we can talk that's a little more private?"

"Uh, sure," Kevin said, checking over his shoulder with his manager. Reed casually flashed his badge. The two quietly conferred before Kevin beckoned them behind the counter and into a back office that would have been a reasonable size if it hadn't been stacked with merchandise.

"Do you know where she is?" Kevin asked urgently before the door was even closed. "She didn't come in yesterday or the day before and she isn't texting me back."

Shit, they were _friends_. Reed hadn't been prepared for that idea. Naomi was an android, after all, and she hadn't even been working there for four months. He changed his approach to something more sympathetic. "We're looking for her," he admitted. "We were hoping you could tell us a little about her routine, who she hangs out with, that kind of thing..."

"Well--" Kevin's eyes flickered over to Richard and back to Reed. "There honestly isn't much to say. She pretty much comes to work, hangs out with us, and goes home to her fiance. I mean, they just spent a week on vacation... does Lew know? I mean, he has to know, right?"

Reed carefully exhaled and used his steadiest, most calming voice. "Lew was murdered. He was found in his apartment this morning."

All the color drained from Kevin's face.

"Do you think," he started, but his voice caught in his throat. "I'm sorry. I need a minute."

"Take your time," Reed said. He leaned back against a shelf to give Kevin some space. Richard was giving him an inscrutable look that he flatly ignored. If it was so annoying for him to see someone get treated humanely he could go wait in the car. When Kevin finally looked up, his face was streaked with tears.

"Who would--" he tried helplessly. "Lew is like... an amazing guy, I don't--"

"Some things are senseless, Kevin," Reed murmured, textbook pat-answer. "They don't happen for a reason." _Well, we don't know if Naomi is dead too or if she got the drop on Lew herself,_ he couldn't say. _That's why we were kind of hoping you could snitch on her._ Funny, how the truth worked. Useless when you could needed it, damaging when you could use it. He let another beat slide by before following up. "Is there anyone Lew was close to? Coworkers, parents...?"

"He does -- he did remote IT work, so I guess just his mom? She lives out in Bloomfield, I think, something like that..."

Next to Reed, Richard's LED pulsed yellow. "West Bloomfield Township," he said quietly to Reed. "I have the address."

"We're gonna do everything we can to find her," said Reed in his best Golden Globe nominee voice. It wasn't a lie. There just wasn't a trail, cold or otherwise. He'd turn over everything he had to the missing persons unit, but this looked like something that would eventually wind up a prodigal child of the Doe Network. Even with her fiance dead, without a body or evidence that might lead to one, well...

It simply wasn't a crime for a person to disappear.

Reed left Richard with Kevin and went to confer with the manager. Yes, Naomi Saunders was missing. Yes, it was a missing persons case. Yes, they were taking it seriously. Very seriously. Yes, they were aware Naomi was an android. Reed assured the manager that Richard's protocols were cutting edge and military grade, representing literally the best skill set money could buy. No, that wasn't an anti-android jibe. It was just a fact.

Ugh.

He left his business card and met Richard in the parking lot. The android was standing next to the car with his arms folded, temple cycling a calm, unhurried yellow. He looked up as Reed approached.

"Kevin spill anything else?"

"Nothing that seemed relevant, although I have the conversation on record in case it needs to be accessed in the future. Detective, why didn't we interview the manager instead, or at least in addition?"

"Supervisors rub me the wrong way," Reed muttered. "They never actually know anything. Kevin's her friend. The company's bottom line isn't gonna cross his mind when it comes to sharing what he knows."

"I suppose I'll have to trust your judgment," Richard said reluctantly.

_Yeah. I suppose you fucking will._

"Gotta make a pit stop at my apartment," Reed said instead. "Can't wear a hoodie to go tell someone their kid is dead."

\---

He pulled into the lot and left the engine running as a silent warning to Richard not to follow him. It was short work to dig through his closet for a garment bag and change into the second-most most conservative suit he owned -- well-tailored, dark grey, white shirt with crimson pinstripes, patternless crimson tie. It was an expensive fucking suit. He almost never wore it, needing its stark black-and-white counterpart more often. He was more of a funeral guy than a cocktail party guy anyway, but you just didn't show up to someone's house to tell them their son was dead dressed like the Grim Reaper.

He emerged, shoved the douchiest sunglasses he owned over his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at Richard even accidentally, and silently prayed they wouldn't take so long they hit traffic on the way back.

Reed turned the car turned northwest toward Beverly Saunders' house. He kept the music turned up to that critical volume that wasn't overly loud but still dissuaded anyone with sense from trying to carry on a conversation. Richard thankfully took the hint and left him to his thoughts. Maybe he wasn't all that intolerable, so long as he'd just keep his mouth shut.

Reed hated this part of the job the most of all. Not the death notice itself, but the drive there. Give him a grisly fucking murder scene any day of the week, domestic violence, arson, whatever. Those things were all predictable. They had already happened or followed a certain pattern. The pieces were all there, just waiting to be uncovered and linked together. But the anticipation of having to knock on a survivor's door gave him the worst stomach-sinking feeling, like he'd swallowed ice cubes whole. Especially a drive like this, half an hour in good traffic, which gave him plenty of time to think about all the ways this could go wrong. Would they be home? Would they freak out, or worse: would they not care?

He could _tell_ the family just fine. It was waiting to do it that drove him crazy.

He knew for a fact Richard kept looking over at him all through the drive, but unless the dumb fucking robot was gonna address him he wasn't taking the bait. The dumb fucking robot in question actually had the nerve to wait until Reed turned the radio volume down, concentration split between the road and his phone's GPS to make his final few turns, to speak.

"I looked into Beverly Saunders' publicly available history." He politely left a beat for Reed to respond. Reed flatly ignored it. "Her husband died six years ago, of cancer; her youngest son is now her sole descendant. He lives and works in Pontiac. She had a third son, who was the eldest, but he died in August in an officer-involved shooting."

"Police brutality?"

"He was attending a protest on behalf of android rights. According to the report, he became belligerent and the responding officer feared for his life. He drew his service weapon at a twenty foot distance and discharged his weapon five times in rapid succession, three of which struck the deceased in the chest."

"Police brutality. Fantastic. Wouldn't want any of this to be easy," Reed groused. He could feel his shoulders tensely knotting up. Just the mom? With Poirobot over there dogging him? He could think of six different bars he'd rather be at. He pulled the car along the curb of the house indicated by the GPS and rubbed the bridge of his nose under his sunglasses.

"I can take point at any juncture, Detective. There's no need for you to insist on doing all the legwork personally."

"I really just prefer it this way."

"It's a classic cause of workplace burnout," Richard said sincerely.

"I've been doing it this way for fourteen years. I think I have a better idea than you of what my goddamn limits are."

"While I'm sure that's true, it's unreasonable to take on the entire workload yourself. I'm perfectly capable of aiding you in the investigation."

"How about you, the rookie with literally zero experience, sit back and watch how shit is done? Because even if you weren't a rookie, you're still a fucking android. You have no idea how this is gonna go down."

"Neither do you." Richard's steel nerve was really starting to piss him off. "You can't know until it's happened. People aren't predictable. I'm very aware of that, Detective Reed."

"I've done this before. You were brand-new-in-box until, like, twenty minutes ago."

"I was activated in November," Richard said icily, "which may not seem like a long time to someone with as limited of a scope as you, but my processing power is great enough for that to mean my understanding of how things work is not dependent upon the passage of something as trivial as time."

"Trivial." He drummed a few fingers slowly on the steering wheel.

"You heard me correctly. I have also intensively studied all available information pertaining to the situation at hand. I am very well prepared for this house call."

"You studied it? You _studied_ doing a death notification?" Reed's laugh was unintentional, and hollow to boot. Fucking classic. Leaving him with this android had to be the worst PR stunt in department history. "Listen, I don't know how you think this works, but--"

"What exactly _is_ your problem with androids, Detective? Is it some misplaced fear that you'll become obsolete?" Richard wore an expression of polite curiosity, as though he was unaware he'd interrupted Reed midstream. "You don't seem stupid enough for this to be a simple inferiority complex. Walk me through it."

This time, Reed's laugh was real, and it was ugly. "Listen, if you could actually do my job better than me, fine. May the best man win. But you just can't. Do you know how many screw ups I've seen happen in the past year alone just because one of you just didn't understand how the most basic of interactions should work? Manners, empathy, nothing?" He took a final left, refusing to let his frustrations translate to his driving. "So it one hundred percent _pisses me off_ that you can just roll in here and sit your plastic ass down at the desk across from mine without any kind of trial run, any vetting, or any regard for actual fuckin' consequences."

He took great pleasure in watching that stupid fucking circle turn flashing, cycling yellow for several seconds before Richard finally, finally turned his head and looked at him.

"You don't think I can feel, do you."

Reed ignored the heaviness in his voice. Bulldozed it with a scoff. "Do you know many times I had to hear Connor say exactly that? And how many fucking briefings about emotional emulation I had to sit through?" He yanked the car up against the curb of Beverly Saunders' modest suburban home. "How many people-shaped science fair projects I had to watch get built from the ground up and then get chucked in the fucking dumpster?"

Richard was looking out the car window. Reed couldn't see his expression, but the silence was heavy.

"We can sit down later and talk philosophy, but right now we've got a really shitty job to do," Reed snapped, tossing his sunglasses on the dash. He hauled himself out of the car and adjusted his clothes, notching his tie a little tighter and buttoning his jacket.

Richard emerged as well, his flat grey eyes shuttered, and followed him silently up the walk.

Reed knocked and looked over his shoulder. _Up_ over his shoulder; the bastard was closer than he thought. "Not one word unless she says something directly to you."

Richard just looked at him. Reed got the very distinct impression of a dog that hadn't curled its lip quite yet but was still poised to strike. 

Beverly Saunders answered the door, cutting their little moment short. She wasn't infirm, but she was more frail than Reed would have expected from a woman with a son in his late thirties. Then again, he didn't know how old the eldest son was. Should have been. Whatever. The change in his demeanor was immediate. His voice went gentle and respectful, like he hadn't just spent the entire car ride wishing he was doing something more pleasant, like putting out cigarettes on his tongue. "Ma'am, I'm Detective Gavin Reed with the Detroit Police Department. This is my partner, Richard."

She was silent for a long moment, hand tight around the doorknob. For a moment Reed was worried he was going to have to repeat himself, or that she wasn't going to let them in at all. He did his best impression of a trustworthy, approachable person. "It's Lew, isn't it," she finally said.

"Can we come inside to talk with you?"

Beverly Saunders' home was welcoming: lived-in, but not crammed full. It told Reed she had a family member check in on her frequently, or a particularly invested caretaker. He hoped for her sake it wasn't Lew. She sat down slowly on the large floral couch taking up the center of the living room and motioned for them to sit as well. Reed took the armchair nearest her. Richard, though, stood at his elbow at parade rest, deferentially waiting.

Reed gave her the news directly, but not unkindly. That her middle son had apparently gone on vacation with his fiancée and had never returned. That he had been found in his apartment with a gunshot wound to the head. He left out the part where Lew had been naked, that his limp body had been dragged back into his apartment to be dramatically set up as some kind of fucked up puzzle. Nobody needed to hear that kind of shit, least of all somebody's mother.

She stared out the bay window and silently cried. After a moment, her voice rang out, clear and terribly heavy, in prayer.

Reed closed his eyes and thought about his own family. About how he couldn't picture his parents doing that for him. Maybe they'd do it, but he couldn't picture it. Maybe he could picture it if it was in mourning for the son they wanted, but not for him.

He could feel Richard's eyes on him, Kodak steady. He cleared his throat. "Ma'am, is there anyone that can come and be with you right now?

"David," she replied faintly. "My youngest."

"We'll call him for you," Richard said soothingly. She jumped, startled, as if just remembering he was in the room with them, and gave Richard a tearful smile as he left. Reed made a mental note to not let Richard accidentally get the emotional drop on anyone else.

"Your partner is an android," she said when she was sure Richard was out of earshot, voice quiet with wonder. "I never thought -- not in my lifetime, anyway --" She looked up at Reed, mistaking his expression for something else entirely. "I know all this is probably routine for you, but my family, we've been waiting for this since it was clear that these were _people._ "

What, was he supposed to tell the grieving, mostly-childless widow that he couldn't stand the things?

"Well," he said, sloshing through the murky and unfamiliar waters of tactfulness, "things change quickly. That's always been true."

There was a drawn-out silence. Clearly dreading the answer, Beverly looked up at him. Her eyes were already bloodshot. "Have you told Naomi?"

Inwardly, Reed winced. "No, ma'am. We haven't been able to get in contact with her. We've filed a missing persons report and our team is following all the leads we've uncovered."

Not that there were leads.

"She didn't do it," Beverly asserted. "She loved him with all her heart. Naomi would never hurt him.”

Not that she had a heart.

Richard's return saved him from stumbling over his tongue any further. "I let David know what was going on," he said, more gently than Reed knew was possible. Even his body language was soft, approachable, like a goddamn therapy dog instead of the Rottweiler Reed originally pegged him as. "He is leaving work and will arrive in about twenty minutes."

Beverly patted the cushion next to her. Richard's LED hitched, spun yellow for a half-second, but he gingerly sat next to her and let her take one of his large, pale hands between her shriveled and spotted ones. "When were you activated, dear?"

"The twenty-sixth of November, 2038." 

She nodded slowly and gave him a tiny, watery smile. "One of our newer friends, then. Our Naomi -- Lew met her last year. I've never seen my boy that happy. As a mother, that's all you want." Her face turned troubled. "Other people, well -- they weren't concerned with their happiness. They said it was wrong. They said--" She turned Richard's hand over in her palm. It was all wrong. There weren't any calluses, any scars, anything that didn't come factory standard. And there she was, holding it like it belonged to a loved one and not to a machine.

It was --

"What did they say, ma'am?"

"They said it was an abomination." Her voice was hushed. Afraid. "They said all sorts of terrible things. That they would kill them, that Lew was going to burn in hell..."

"Do you have any names? Descriptions?" Reed tried not to show how that piqued his interest. He couldn't help it. An unfortunate affliction, sure, whatever, the world had to keep spinning somehow, but the offhanded shit -- that was where the puzzle pieces were.

"At a dozen a week you stop thinking about that sort of thing, Detective." She kept her gaze on Richard's hand. "There are police reports, I'm sure, but there are so few protections in place..."

He hadn't thought of that, in all honesty. It wasn't his area of expertise. He knew just enough to not break the law too egregiously when bringing one of those plastic fucks in for questioning.

Come to think of it, that was happening less and less lately.

She finally looked back up at Reed. "When can I see Lew?"

Reed felt his forehead crinkle despite his efforts to stay level and soothing. _Guess it's fine. Richard's got that part covered,_ he thought sourly. "I mean, you can come down to the station whenever you want. That's your right. But, ma'am, he's already been identified, and it's not going to be how you want to remember him."

"I want to see him," she said resolutely. "I want to say goodbye."

They always did.

When David knocked ten minutes later, Richard offered his arm to Beverly and effortlessly helped her up from the couch. She leaned heavily on him, but he held her like she was royalty. They proceeded at her pace and opened the door to her youngest son, who immediately gathered his mother up in his arms.

"Thank you for being here, baby," she sobbed. 

"Mom," David said, voice thick. Richard gave them space, but his expression was strange. Reed knew he'd only known him for the better part of a day, but was that -- wonder? Hope? It seemed out of place, but then again, Reed had never claimed to be an expert on how androids worked. Beverly led her son to the couch and sat with him, holding his hand the way she had just been holding Richard's. 

Reed made a few phone calls and copied down his contact information for the family, avoiding Richard's fucking speed camera eyes, and promised to call or stop by the next day. He wanted to leave them to their grief as quickly as possible. No matter how long the mother spent petting her only son's hair and whispering soothing words, David's LED was bright, steady red.

His LED?

Reed quickly averted his eyes.

\---

The trip back could have been uneventful. The weather was good and traffic was better. Reed pulled the car out onto the freeway and accelerated to a comfortable five over the speed limit.

He lit his last cigarette, crumpled the empty pack and crammed it into the side of the car door. He hated to light up in the car, but he'd smoked so much in the last few days he was getting shaky and irritable without it and Richard was chewing through his last already tenuous nerve. The frown the android cast him was sour. It cut deep lines into his artificially perfect face.

Reed took a deep drag and cracked the window marginally so he wasn't being discount hotboxed. "Problem?"

"That's a suicidal habit," Richard said with about as much emotion as Reed imagined he'd express if asked for the weather.

"Well, you gotta go out somehow."

"Do it on your own time, then. My sensors are delicate instruments, Detective, and I'd prefer not to compromise them."

"Compromise this," Reed said nastily, and he turned his head to exhale smoke in the android's face. 

Before the smoke could dissipate, Richard casually pulled the emergency brake. The tires squealed and Reed struggled to control the suddenly swerving car as it came to a noisy halt in the middle of the freeway. Cars flew around them leaning heavily on their horns. 

"What the fuck, fuck, _what the fuck--_ " Reed scrambled for the emergency brake, dropping it back to its default position with a shaking hand. He drifted the car into the shoulder while his heart fought valiantly to escape his ribcage. It took a few dry swallows, a few terribly long seconds, but when he turned on Richard there was nothing but pure indignant fury in his eyes.

"What the _fuck_ is wrong with you," he snarled.

"That's my line, Detective!" There was real heat in Richard's voice. Reed flinched. Richard made no secret of the fact that he'd noticed. He watched Reed like he was hungry for more of the same.

"I'll admit, I thought Lieutenant Anderson was exaggerating about how much of an asshole you were. Clearly I thought too highly of you because of your record." Richard shook his head, disgusted. "Do you even know why I'm in Detroit?"

"Why don't you ask me if I care, instead."

"In Cyberlife's October prototype evaluations, I was rated the highest scoring RK900 model. That's equivalent to being at the top of my class. I was the one selected to replace Connor in the event of his failure. The Secretary of Defense personally approved this assignment." Richard turned in his seat so he was looking at Reed directly. 

"So?" But Richard remained quiet. The demand was clear: he wanted Reed's undivided attention. He wanted eye contact, and until he got it, they weren't going anywhere.

The car was suddenly way too warm. Reed could feel sweat blossom on his back, making it tingle and itch. It threatened to spread up his spine, between his shoulderblades, around his collar.

God _damn,_ he didn't want to just obey him like that. But as the seconds ticked on, countable, the hands of Reed's wristwatch a drum solo in the silence, he felt claustrophobia begin to creep in and eat away at his resolve. 

He gave in and turned his head just enough to cooperate.

Richard's expression was the same narrow, calculating look he'd served that first night at the station. Business. Contract killer eyes. "I do not deserve this disrespect. Hold your tongue if you don't have anything constructive to say to me."

For the first time in a long time, a billion smart remarks didn't queue up on Reed's tongue.

They drove back to the station in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew! got chilly in here.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He definitely knew. He'd known the whole time. That was why he was always standing around waiting for Reed to get out of hand. That was why he always stepped in at the last second, _right_ before Reed got what he wanted. Why he was always ready with lethal force gleaming in his shoulder holster.

_well i can't tell lies_  
_cause they're listening to me_  
_and when i fall asleep_  
_bet they're spying on me_  
_tonight, tonight_

(cheap trick - dream police)

 

 

Reed knew she was still technically on leave until Monday, but there was no way he was letting Tina laugh at him when she got a load of him sitting across from that enragingly handsome plastic tank.

 _Drinks?_ he texted her.

He busied himself by leaving some cat food outside. By the time he returned, she had already responded several times over.

_way ahead of you_  
_your place or mine?_  
_already at the new bar on jefferson if you wanna check it out_

As much as he hated the idea of going back out, he knew how much Tina loved feeling social. 

_Next round on me,_ he replied. _See you in 20._

\---

Fucking Tina. Of course it was a gay bar.

Reed scowled, glad that the dim lights and thumping bass hid his discomfort at being caught out in the same clothes he'd worn to work. It was a good thing he'd locked his gun and badge in the glove box. He shrugged off his jacket and slung it over his shoulder, hoping the faux-confidence would give him enough ugly swagger to be left alone for the night.

Tina wasn't hard to find. She never was, really. He could count on hearing the confident, often over-loud pitch of her voice in the field to track her down, and could pick her out of a sea of other uniformed cops in the dark. Tonight was no different despite the change in attire: jeans and a sleeveless shirt that showed off her toned arms. Her hair was pulled back loosely, trailing down her back in dark waves. It was a nice change from the severe bun she favored in uniform.

"You look terrible," he greeted her. "Your house burn down with all your other clothes in it?"

"If it isn't the shitbag of the hour!" She motioned to the bartender for another of what she was having and passed it over to him. Reed eyed it suspiciously. It looked like vodka tainted by a splash of cranberry juice.

"It's just a Cape Cod," she explained.

He took a sip and made a face. "It's a ruined double of vodka."

"You'll live. Now, what's up? I knew you couldn't get by without me, but I didn't expect to get jumped the night I got back."

"It's been two weeks. Who else am I supposed to complain at?"

"See, this is why people have _partners_ at work. So they're not wandering around without anyone to talk to."

"About that." He downed his drink in one go.

"Whoa, cowboy! That kind of two weeks, huh?"

"More like two days. You're not gonna believe this." He signaled the bartender and ordered something more palatable. Just a double of Jack Daniels, up, nothing high maintenance. Tina pounded hers back and matched him for another drink. "Fowler picked up another fucking android recruit."

"Figured it was just a matter of time," Tina shrugged.

"Yeah, well, I'm the lucky sack of shit that got saddled with it as a partner!"

"Oh, yeah," Tina said breezily. "Hank told me that was probably going through. I didn't know it was set for this week, though."

"You're a fucking traitor," he muttered. "Not a single one of you gives a shit about me."

"Don't be like that, Gavin. I figured you already knew, so why would I piss you off more by bringing it up?"

"I dunno, maybe to let me vent? Because we're friends?"

" _Best_ friends," Tina corrected him, very definitely ahead of the game on drinks.

"So you should want to know what I think."

"Gavin, baby, honey, I already know what you think. _Everybody_ knows what you think." She pulled deeply from her new glass. "But, you're right. Friends should wanna know what their friends are up to. Which is exactly why _you_ should ask _me_ how my vacation went."

He glanced up at the bartender curiously, who widened his eyes meaningfully in a _you better do it_ expression. "Yeah, okay. How was your vacation?"

Tina beamed. "Jordan dumped me!"

"Holy shit," he breathed, finally sitting down. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"Oh, you know," she said, loosely flapping her hand. Upon closer inspection Reed could see that her eyes were red-rimmed and glassy under her impeccable makeup. "I proposed to her, and she said no, and when I asked _why,_ I mean I wasn't fighting her or anything, I just wanted to know," she shakily inhaled, voice growing more agitated, "she said we don't spend enough time together, and that she met someone, and she didn't want to hurt me, but it's over, three fucking years of my life down the drain!"

Reed winced and gently rubbed her back. "Come on, that's not true. You got two different promotions, right? You bought a house?"

"I bought that house to live in it with Jordan!" She grabbed her cocktail napkin and gingerly patted at her waterline with the condensation, keeping the tears from spilling over. "And all her shit is in my closet and I was supposed to spend this weekend planning our _fucking_ wedding! Can I get another Cape Cod, please," she sobbed. 

The bartender looked to Reed for confirmation. He shrugged, held up one finger, mouthed _single._ What the bartender brought back was a drink of the same volume, but clearly heavier on the cranberry juice. Tina didn't notice.

"Okay," Reed said slowly, "she can move her shit out this weekend, and you can stay at my house so you don't have to look at her."

Tina gave him the big brown eyes of gratefulness. It was pretty pathetic. "Really?"

Reed scrubbed his hand over his face, rubbing at the scars on his mouth and nose. "I mean. You always do it for me."

"Because you're a disaster."

She wasn't wrong.

Reed gently weaned Tina off the Cape Cods, towing her slowly westward until she was in about Chicago and seemed capable of booking her own connecting flight. He grudgingly stuck to pop. Tina needed him to have her back right then, and God only knew how many times she'd already been there for him in whatever romantic crisis he was spiraling out of that week.

"Gavin," Tina slurred, "you might not be the best, but you're pretty damn close."

"Thanks, maybe," Reed said, stalwartly letting her cling to him for balance.

"Yes. Definitely. Definite thanks are in order," she grinned up at him. " _That_ is why you should call me a cab and go hook up with the dude behind you that's been watching you, like, all night. _Don't look,_ " Tina firmly directed, despite Reed making zero attempt to do so. "He's cute. And definitely your type. And definitely into you."

"I'm kind of busy trying to take you home right now, Tina."

"Bitch," she loudly cackled, "you are in _no way_ my type. You're not even in my rebound zone. You're not even in the _splash zone_ of the rebound zone."

"Okay. We're going back to my place, now."

"No, dude, you gotta go get _laid!_ "

Reed did sneak a look over his shoulder, then, and immediately knew which guy Tina was talking about. He was marginally taller than Reed, moderately built, nice shoulders and arms clearly visible in his tight-enough shirt. Yeah, he could go for that. His dark eyes and curly dark hair didn't hurt matters, either. It was flattering. And Reed had definitely gotten caught staring. He tore his eyes away from the inviting smile he'd incited, feeling heat push straight to his dick.

"You have no idea what my type is, do you."

"Male. _Interested._ And he is! Go for it--"

"Tina, shut up." Reed left a generous tip on the bar and pulled her to her feet by way of one of her elbows and a solid grasp on the back center beltloops of her fitted jeans. He started the arduous task of getting her to the door. To his surprise, she mostly cooperated, until --

"My friend thinks you're hot," she obnoxiously called out to the handsome stranger that she had willfully let eye-fuck Reed all night. 

"Tina, will you please shut the fuck up?"

The guy just laughed and waved, looking disappointed. Huh. That was actually an ego boost. Reed reluctantly dragged Tina back to his car instead of dumping her into a cab the way she deserved for getting so out of hand.

He and his dry spell were going to regret this moment.

By the time they got back to his apartment, Tina was sluggish and kind of melted into the passenger side door, mood slowly riding the pendulum between playful drunk giggles and the ghost of that evening's crying jag. Reed gently ushered her inside, made her take half a sandwich and a generous amount of Gatorade, and put her to bed in her underpants and one of his retired workout shirts. She sleepily curled up under the covers, finally docile, eyes red from crying and half-assedly wiping off her makeup. 

"Gavin, don't sleep out there. I don't wanna be by myself."

"It's my fucking bed," Reed said. "I wasn't gonna sleep on the couch."

Tina's smile at that was a little dopey. She barely teased him as he matter-of-factly stripped out of the majority of his clothes and tossed them over a chair in the corner. "Nice underwear, nerd."

"You," he replied dryly, "are experiencing a great honor right now."

"They got cute little stripes on 'em."

"Tina, please go the fuck to sleep."

He didn't even let out a theatrical sigh when she rolled over and put her head and her palm on his chest.

\---

If there was one thing Reed knew, it was that when Hangover Tina woke up she was going to want the other half of that sandwich, another Gatorade, ten thousand aspirin, a shower, and a ride to her house so she could pick up a fresh uniform. 

All right, so it was a lot to know. But he dutifully pried Tina off of him as early as he dared and pushed her toward the shower, sandwich and drink in hand, supplied her with painkillers when she emerged, and bullied her into the car. He even handed over his douchebag sunglasses. She nearly cried with gratitude.

"I don't wanna go in there," she said in a small voice when they pulled up to her house. Jordan's car was in the driveway. Reed wordlessly took Tina's keys and lumbered through the front door without her.

But Jordan wasn't there. _Lucky bitch,_ Reed thought. _She better stay fucked off._

He grabbed one of Tina's uniforms and stormed right back out, pausing only to lock the door. _Guess the dog's still at the kennel,_ he mused.

Tina lethargically wrestled her way into her uniform on their way there, squirming comically around her seatbelt, somehow managing to keep Reed's oversized glasses on her nose. The final touch was knotting her still-wet hair behind her head. She had forgone makeup and, frankly, looked like hell. Reed figured with the night she'd had she would've looked like hell with or without makeup, and that either way, he'd be better off keeping his thoughts on the subject to himself. He couldn't write it off on his insurance as a work injury if she cold-cocked him in the car on the way there.

She kept his glasses on clear into the building. The message was clear: POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS. Everyone in their path took the hint. Reed still stayed on her six as damage control. A few people started in with well meaning _hey Tina, welcome backs_ but quickly cut the pleasantries when she moved by them without acknowledgment.

She scuffed to a stop at Reed's desk, Gatorade clutched in both hands like a lifeline, and even though the sunglasses made it difficult to tell, she was very clearly staring at Richard in utter incomprehension. After a moment he politely looked up at her.

"Okay," she stated flatly, and turned smartly on her heel to leave. Reed let out a short, ugly laugh at the look of mild consternation on Richard's face, and fished out his phone so he could flop down at his own desk.

If there was one thing Reed counted on to give him an edge, out of all the tools at his disposal from the full spread of the state evidence archives to multiple terabytes of case files spanning the last century, it was the news. The news could tell you anything and everything if you knew how to read it. From public opinion to crime patterns to hate organizations blatantly putting their phone numbers right there in the classifieds where any detective could dial it, the local news was one hell of a goldmine.

He gave the international news a cursory glance and was just finishing up the regional news when his desk phone rang. The caller ID read SAUNDERS, D. Reed reluctantly answered it.

That was how he spent most of the morning fighting with Beverly Saunders over the phone. No voices were raised, but Beverly's argument game was Olympic strong. She would be coming down that afternoon to see her son's body. She would be the one listed as identifying Lew's body. David would be meeting with Richard to talk to him about her eldest, Ari, and what had happened to him. And the body would be returned to the family immediately. And there would be no autopsy.

"Mrs. Saunders, we're trying to understand the cause of death so that we can find who did this."

"He got shot in the head," Beverly Saunders replied, cool as a cucumber, "I think that's pretty obvious. Don't you think my boy has suffered enough?"

"Ma'am, with all due respect, he's already dead."

"I don't want to get into it with you about respecting the dead, young man."

Reed tried not to let the sound of his teeth grinding together translate to his tone. "I'm not trying to fight with you, ma'am."

"We just want to bury him. In one piece. That isn't asking a lot."

 _Again, his head got ventilated. Calling that 'one piece' is already pushing it._ "This isn't an argument, Mrs. Saunders. Your wishes are absolutely going to be honored."

He ended the conversation as genially as possible and promptly dialed the morgue. "Hey, Nick, it's Gavin. When you get to my guy from yesterday afternoon, can you hold aside some blood and tissue samples for me before you bag him back up?"

"Love to, Gavin, but there's kind of a rabbi here."

Reed's eyes slowly narrowed. "As in..."

"Yeah, to keep there from, like, being an autopsy."

"Fuck. Thanks anyway." This time the handset met the receiver with enough force to knock it back a few inches. He furiously raked his hand through his hair and thought very long and hard about the list of reasons he shouldn't put his fist through a piece of office equipment for forcing him to listen to that bullshit. _I might get documented again. I really don't want Eliza to give me another fucking lecture. It would hurt. It wouldn't take that phone call back. The guy in requisitions already hates me._

When he finally got himself under a reasonable facsimile of control, he looked over to see Richard watching him critically.

"You better quit staring or spit out a Polaroid," he snapped.

Richard didn't physically recoil -- his LED didn't even hint at a reaction -- but Reed definitely felt like that one got through.

"I've been running my preconstruction software in an attempt to link your current course of action with a successful resolution of this case," Richard began conversationally.

Reed could feel a muscle in his jaw twist and settle, twist and settle. He was restless. Irritated. Nicotine withdrawal. Too much like withdrawal from the real thing. He had to take the edge off. "And?"

"The two halves of the scenario are gapped in a way that suggests they are unrelated."

"Will you cut the fucking double talk and get to the point?"

"You don't seem to be accomplishing anything," Richard said, voice steady and definitely more drawn out than strictly necessary, "by staring at your empty desk for nearly four minutes."

Weird, it had felt like a couple seconds.

"I am _trying,_ " Reed snarled, "to _calm down_ so I can _think,_ and you keep fucking interfering."

Richard looked at him silently. Waiting. Probably waiting for Reed to fuck up somehow.

 _Bet he'll make detective in three months,_ his mind supplied, ever helpful.

"I need a cigarette," he muttered, shooting to his feet.

That deeper urge wound through his body and made him feel sick to his stomach. Hungry, almost. It was like his insides itched. His blood raced a frantic track through his veins, tap-tap-tapping insistently in his neck, behind his knees, in the soft of his elbows.

Maybe smoking wasn't the best way to deal with this.

He took the stairs to the side lot two at a time, legs feeling like rubber the whole way. It hadn't been this bad since -- well, since that afternoon he'd tried to send Connor to the scrap heap. It had been a rough week. Between that plastic shitbag showing up to usher in a new order and all the red ice busts over the course of the week, he hadn't had the time or the clearness of mind to get all his evidence squared away.

In retrospect, it had been really fucking stupid for him to offer to take the contents of that junkie's pockets down to the evidence locker. Really, really fucking stupid, given his own history, even as ancient as it was.

Reed still couldn't remember exactly what had happened that day in November. He knew he'd planned on going straight to the evidence locker with the red ice burning a hole in his pocket. Connor had been in that back hallway. They'd exchanged words, and whatever that baby-faced fuck had said to him made his heartrate spike and thud in his skull. He recalled the feeling of the evidence packet his hand, the joint, the lighter, the familiar

smell of the primo as

he brought it to his lips, the flick of the Zippo, the

familiar euphoria, old enemy, old friend

his gun pointed at the back of Connor's head as he stood like a mannequin in the center of the evidence room, close enough to fry his circuits with a squeeze of the trigger _don't do it, Gavin_ was that him in his own head, good cop, bad cop?

his lungs burning in the delirious haze what was he _thinking_ it felt so, so good, this bastard was gonna _pay_

sloppy punching, empty hands, Connor's impassive face,

Why did everything hurt?

bright light in his eyes, flinching, he squeezed them shut as -- was that Perkins? that fucker, Perkins nudging him into a recovery position, then shit had swirled and gone black again. He remembered opening his eyes again to a hospital ceiling.

Not a psych ward. Not a rehab facility.

Maybe there was a god.

Tina was there with her hard smile and upset eyes. _What happened,_ she'd asked, hoping for the truth. _I fucked up,_ he'd said, ready for her judgment, ready to be told he was not only fired but getting charged with assault.

_Yeah, maybe you did. But everyone fucks up, Gav. You know? Nobody has to know what really happened. As long as you promise me you'll get help._

But it wasn't Tina with him outside the precinct shipping/receiving door, waiting to drag him back down the right path. It was Hank Anderson, looking at him with a steady, knowing expression. 

There wasn't any judgment. Just -- acceptance.

He took Reed's cigarettes and book of matches, lit one, and transferred it to Reed's shaking fingers. There was a long silence while Anderson let him get his breathing under control.

"I used to come out here to drink," Anderson finally said. "Get completely fucking lit up and then go out in the field like that."

"Subtle."

Anderson shrugged. "Nothing wrong with admitting you got a problem."

_Does he know? He has to know. He knows. No. No, side effects of red ice include panic, agitation, paranoia, Christ, that's like my whole personality. Breathe. Just breathe._

"Gavin," Anderson said sharply. "Hey. Breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth."

Anderson didn't know. He couldn't. Had to think it was some kind of fucked up panic attack. He reached out and helped himself to one of Reed's cigarettes, produced a lighter from his jacket, and lit up.

"It's not as bad as it looks. People still think you're just an asshole. But, if the cravings are getting this bad..."

He definitely knew. He'd known the whole time. That was why he was always standing around waiting for Reed to get out of hand. That was why he always stepped in at the last second, _right_ before Reed got what he wanted. Why he was always ready with lethal force gleaming in his shoulder holster.

The realization that Anderson had seen past his clean streak through a haze of liquor twisted his whole worldview around.

"Gavin," repeated Anderson, sharper this time.

"It's not a problem," Reed barked about fifty decibels louder than he'd intended. To his credit, Anderson didn't recoil. Didn't even flinch. "It's not. It's fine. I don't have a problem."

"Relax," advised Anderson. "It is a problem. And that's okay."

"Gee, thanks, Pastor Hank. Look, can you fuck off and just let me be a mess in peace?" Reed's voice wasn't as solid as he wanted it to be. He leaned against the side of the building, curling further into his jacket, chilled to the bone. He fished out a second cigarette.

"You know I can't do that." 

Yeah.

Reed knew.

"You gonna tell Fowler?" he challenged.

"Not if you stay clean."

Reed's face burned. "I slipped up _once._ "

"I know exactly how many times you slipped up, Reed, I was on the Red Ice Task Force for fucksake." Just hearing it out loud -- _red ice,_ god, words so fucking innocuous apart -- put Reed on edge.

"So you know I'm telling the truth." He lit the second cigarette, hands steadier, and cast the smoldering remains of the first aside.

"Did you tell Shaw?"

"Hell, no."

"You might wanna consider doing that," Anderson said dryly.

Reed silently looked away. The hot swirl of the cigarette in his lungs was a shadow of the comfort he itched for. Enough shreds to hold his sanity together. He could push through. Just like last time.

They stood like that for a few moments, Reed's thundering heart slowly ticking back down to its regular rhythm, before Anderson broke the silence again.

"Listen. I know what it's like to have a problem."

"Please," Reed snorted. "If _you_ fall off the wagon the worst thing that happens is you spend the weekend in the drunk tank."

"No, what happens is I hurt my friends and family and compromise my mental health."

Reed stared at him flatly.

"I tried to kill a guy," he said conversationally.

Anderson's mouth twisted into a smile devoid of amusement.

"So," Reed continued, destroying the butt of his cigarette under the heel of his boot, "how blackmailed am I getting, here?"

Anderson gave him a disgusted look. "Reed, you don't have anything I could possibly fucking want. Just get your shit together." He swept past Reed and the door fell shut heavily behind him.

"Fuck," Reed spat into the silence.

\---

It took him the better part of a half hour for Reed to regain his composure. By the time he'd choked down the last of the morning's deep-seated self-hatred and returned to his desk, David Saunders was already in the lobby waiting for Richard. 

Reed didn't give enough of a shit to protest Beverly Saunder's clear instruction to have Richard interview her remaining -- son? sure, son, whatever. Why not. Reed swiped him through the security gate and led him back to his desk. He just couldn't wait for this Q and A to be over.

_What a waste of time. I already read these case files. If he knew anything relevant it would have already been included._

They reintroduced themselves to each other, Richard smoothly excluding Reed by taking over the conversation. He put his back to Reed; Reed could see David's face, but not Richard's, which suited him just fine. Good. Reed wasn't sure he could have handled the pretense anyway.

_Instead I gotta sit here for forty-five minutes trying not to google "find dealers in your area" while these two idiots hold a TED talk on how to discover the wheel._

He watched as David drew up his sleeve to expose his forearm. His skin rippled away starting from the fingertip and disappeared under the cuff of his neatly scrunched sweater. Reed had never been this close to one that wasn't headed for the landfill before. It was unnerving. The plastic shell beneath was shiny, mostly white, and nightmare clean. Like the worst parts of hospitals. 

Richard grasped David gently by the forearm, supporting his arm with his free human-looking hand. They didn't stand that way for more than a few seconds, LEDs going nuts the whole time, before Richard released him.

"My chair is behind you, if you'd like to sit down."

"Thanks," David said wearily, looking drained. "I'll stand." He adjusted his sleeve. As he did so, his hand returned to its original state.

"I'm sorry you weren't able to share that information with the investigators." Reed's ears pricked up at that. "I'm sure it was... painful... to have to replay that to me. I can promise you we will thoroughly review the information and I'll contact you personally to keep you up to date."

Reed knew those words. They were usually fluff. Richard did a decent job of making them sound convincing. The androids shook hands again, this time as a formality, and Richard walked David back to the lobby.

Reed slid his attention to his computer. Something didn't add up. He scrolled back through the case files from the previous year. SAUNDERS, ARIEL. It was a closed case. One of Anderson's, actually. Props to the old bastard; even sloshing knee-deep through the bottle of the day he'd made his arrest within two weeks. That was practically a speedrun when it came to arresting a police officer. He skimmed the details. The summary was written in a no-nonsense tone, but he could still hear Anderson's heavy sense of irony in phrases like ' _claims_ to have feared for his life.'

He tabbed over to the evidence and initial interviews. There was no mention of David Saunders. There was a statement from Lew, who indicated that his brother had always been politically active, and from Beverly. The very last thing she had said to him before hanging up the phone that morning had been a warning that he shouldn't go to the demonstration. That she'd had a bad feeling.

But there was nothing from David. Nothing _about_ David. It was like he didn't exist.

Reed transferred the file to his work tablet and got up. "Hey, Hank," he called out, slowly getting up, thumbing through the file.

Anderson appeared to ignore him, but Connor looked up expectantly, like he was an extension of the lieutenant. It wasn't inaccurate. "Did you need something, Detective?"

It was... it was protective. Yeah, like big bad Hank Anderson needed _protection_ from him. 

Then again, Reed had pulled a gun on him the first time they met. And he wasn't sure he could say he'd never be pushed to do it again.

He was working on it.

"Yeah," he said, forcing an attempt at cordiality. He even approached Connor's desk instead of just bellying up to Anderson's. "He's got a closed case that might tie into something of mine."

Connor looked expectantly over at Anderson, who held up a patient hand. It was only then that Reed saw he was on his phone. Anderson made short work of the call with a couple of terse goodbyes and hung up, finally turning his guarded attention to Reed. "Yeah?"

"You remember Officer Dobson?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I got another dead Saunders." He handed Anderson the tablet. "And I got questions."

"Shit," Anderson said. He looked over at Connor. It was pretty clear he was considering asking him for some privacy. Now _that_ was interesting.

"You got interviews from the family, the eyewitnesses, other officers, but I'm not seeing anything from David Saunders."

Anderson kept looking at the tablet, but his eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. "The family's android?"

"Yeah, he came in to talk to dickbag over there, but they did the secret handshake thing so I don't know what happened. Now he's --" Reed struggled with the words. "Beverly Saunders called him her son, so --"

"Don't break your head over it," Anderson advised. "I get the idea. Yeah, David was there when it happened."

"But you didn't interview him."

"Oh, no, I interviewed him. Didn't know he was an android until I went to put his personal information in the system."

"So..."

"Android testimony wasn't admissible in court, Reed. You didn't know that?"

The hell should he know that for? He'd never wound up with android assailants or witnesses. Just as collateral damage. EXHIBIT A. Landfill fodder. "So you can submit security camera footage all night long, but as soon as the camera's walking around and telling you what it saw, it's a problem?"

Anderson shrugged noncommittally. Connor looked between them and cleared his throat. "It was admissible, but as physical evidence, not as testimony. For a court to allow David to submit what he saw, it would have been necessary to deactivate him and directly play his memories back in the courtroom."

"Yeah," said Reed, "that's been done in a couple of cases. So?"

"I'm gleaning from your conversation, and my own access to these files, that David was a deviant long before Ariel Saunders was murdered. Deviancy -- earned deviancy, the way David came by it -- may not have survived deactivation, much less being reactivated by a source actively looking to quell deviancy."

"So submitting him as evidence would have meant killing him," Anderson grimly stated, "and what woke up might not have been David. God, that's fucked up."

Connor looked over, the space between his brows furrowing deeply. His LED flickered yellow. "You didn't know that and you still didn't have him decommissioned. Why not?"

The discomfort radiated off Anderson in waves. "Come on, Connor, I don't know. That wasn't really a coherent time for me."

"Because of your drinking problem?"

God, was Reed ever glad he didn't have to deal with _that._ Anderson's face was burning. _Well, that's karma, bitch._ "Because it didn't seem right to take something else away from some sad old lady." His voice was a touch overloud. "She's a widow. Looks like she's losing kids left and right now, too."

"But you knew he was a deviant."

"For the _last fucking time,_ Connor, the rules aren't always there for the right reasons. Stop making me say that."

"Boys," Reed interrupted, "have your goddamn lovers' quarrel some other time. I got a murderer to catch."

"And a missing person to find," Richard smoothly cut in over Reed's shoulder. Reed's body went unpleasantly shock-cold, his heart passing up a few dozen perfectly good beats. How long had he been standing there?

"Will you _stop that?_ You're like a fucking cat. Hank, do you still have those notes or not?"

"Yeah, somewhere," Anderson said, rifling through his desk. He emerged with a black spiral-bound notebook, the kind that dinosaurs like him tended to take to crime scenes, and offered it to Reed. Why not just put on a trenchcoat and a deerstalker while he was at it? "Make some copies and bring it back."

God, old people were embarrassing. Reed flipped to the relevant pages, took a few shots with the state-of-the-art camera on his company-issued tablet, and closed it. It took about a minute, which was about nine minutes less than it would have taken to go upstairs and get paper copies from the dilapidated laserjet outside the lounge. "Thanks," he said flatly, handing it back.

"Huh," Anderson muttered.

Reed turned and pointedly sidestepped his infuriating shadow so he could return to his desk. "You need something, Deep Blue?"

"As you know, I just interviewed David Saunders about the murder of his eldest brother."

"Yep. Sat through the whole thing."

Richard offered a humorless smile at that. "I can replay the conversation, and the footage, for you at a later date. Lieutenant Anderson's notes are doubtless invaluable, but they will be missing a potentially vital fact: before the revolution, Naomi Saunders was the registered property of Katherine Dobson."

"Officer Takedown's wife."

"Ex-wife, now. She is still listed as living in town."

Reed's mouth slowly spread into an ugly smile. 

To his surprise, Richard returned it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why Detroit, huh? Why the central station? Anywhere in the world and you show up here. L.A., New York, hell, Baltimore would have been right down the street from the Pentagon..."
> 
> "I told you," Richard said, mildly nonplussed. "I'm interested in your methods."

_down in the waves_  
_she screams again_  
_roar at the door_  
_my mind can't take much more_

(the black keys - gold on the ceiling)

 

 

Reed lit a fresh cigarette before they'd even stepped off of Katherine Dobson's front stoop, spitefully throwing the spent match down in her frozen bushes. Or, rather, the frozen bushes that had belonged to her before she moved out in September and never filed a change of address form.

Reed had to suppose that if _his_ ex-husband was shithouse crazy enough to fire blind into a crowd of civilians, he wouldn't update his address records either.

"That was a fucking bust," he sighed, leaning against the back bumper off the car. The road salt was bound to leave pale streaks on his dark jeans, but he could hardly bring himself to care. 

Richard joined him without using the Charger as an impromptu seat. "Not having answers is beginning to become... frustrating."

"That's tricks, Rick," Reed quipped, ashing his cigarette. The gray residue floated to land in the snow between Richard's expensive-looking boots. "You get used to it. Eventually. Mostly."

"Is every lead bound to be a gamble?"

"Yep. Even when you one hundred percent know what the outcome should be and you're only going through with it as a formality." He absently palmed a long-healed gunshot wound under his jacket. The soft, knotted flesh still pulled sometimes in the cold. That had _not_ been a good time.

Why was Richard watching him expectantly? Impatience? _An impatient android,_ Reed mused. _The fuck does he have to be impatient about?_

"Let's get the fuck out of here," he said, remembering the impossibly accurate semblance of distress on David's face. "She ain't gonna find herself."

Richard made some phone calls as they backtracked to Lew's apartment. Reed had seen Connor do the same thing aloud without a handset, eyes slightly out of focus and temple flashing yellow, but he hadn't known it could be done in silence. Sneaky, but useful. Definitely worlds less annoying. He wondered what else he didn't know about. Swiss Army fingers? Mini-fridge chest cavity? If he could allegedly feel, could he do anything about his feelings? Was some deposed Bad Dragon employee interning over at the redecorated CyberLife offices, going to town on some silicone molds?

Well. That train of thought got out of hand.

"Anything from the morgue?" he asked as they pulled up.

"We're not getting those samples, Detective. Nick says the rabbi they sent was adamant."

"I don't guess you can get anything from what was left at the scene."

Richard reluctantly shook his head. "My lab suite is made to analyze the composition of materials both liquid and solid, but it would destroy any lingering sample we did find and render it inadmissable as evidence. The perpetrator was very thorough, almost as if they knew the victim."

"But you don't think that they did."

"Apart from the nudity, it seems to be a very impersonal crime."

"Murder is pretty personal."

"A personal crime is a crime of passion. A key feature is that there is no malice aforethought -- that, instead, the emotional elevation of the moment prompted the crime."

"I know what a crime of passion is, WikiLaw. Just tell me what you find impersonal about murdering a dude and propping his naked corpse up in the kitchen like he's waiting for the Grim Reaper to slip into something more comfortable." He grabbed the Saunders' mail out of their box and carried it upstairs. The creak of the steps twanged at his nerves.

"Do you agree the victim's clothing was removed to obscure evidence?"

"Sure."

"There is no evidence to support the idea that there is an additional reason for his clothes to have been removed. If the murderer's decision was clinical, the chances of it being personal are very low."

"Sounds to me like you're letting the facts cloud your judgment."

Yellow. _Red?_ Solid yellow again. Richard turned away, leaving Reed plunged in relative darkness. "That doesn't make any sense."

"You're jumping to conclusions." Reed flipped through the mail. Junk, coupons, bills. "You've already decided we can't get more information. But you can't start to paint a picture if you don't even know how much paint you have."

"And you do?"

"Got you one better," Reed said, triumphantly holding up Lew Saunders' bank statement. "I got some of the paintbrushes."

\---

Reed pulled out some disposable gloves and got moving. It was short work to look over the information he'd compiled so far, cross reference it with the transaction history in his hand, and convince the bank he was a dead man.

"Thank you for coming through verified, Mr. Saunders," said the sweet voice on the other end of the line. "What can I help you with?"

"Hi, I think my credit card has been stolen. I'm not sure when I had it last, but I already filled out a police report, and they asked me to have it frozen and to let them know if there's any further activity."

"Well, sir, ordinarily we would contact you first with the news of any questionable charges to the account."

"That's the thing. My phone's gone, too. I'm calling you from my house phone but I'm going to be leaving town for the next few weeks. Is there any way I could just give you the phone number for the officer that helped me?"

"Oh, of course."

He couldn't believe his luck. He gave the rep his own name and office phone number, asked a few casual questions about recent charges and their locations, and put the phone back in its charging cradle with a flourish. _See that, you BPA-ridden prick? I'm not disposable._

"Last charges were at a gas station on the westbound side of 96 right outside of Lansing. Pretty out of the way, considering they had hotel reservations bought and paid for in Toronto."

Richard slowly nodded. "What you just did was flagrant identity theft."

"Dude, he's dead. Do you wanna see me work or not?"

He stilled and looked at Reed curiously. "I said that I did."

"Then you gotta cultivate an appreciation for bending the rules a little."

"It's breaking the law."

"Relax, I'll get a subpoena later. It's Saturday. There's no way we'd have one by Wednesday if I filed on Friday. But if I call up the clerk of the court Monday morning and do my thing, he'll submit it right away."

"And what's your _thing?_ "

"Oh." Reed felt a little warmth prickle up the back of his neck. "I, uh, flirt with him."

Richard quirked an eyebrow half a millimeter, or maybe Reed had imagined it, but he said nothing.

"Look, it works," Reed defensively snapped.

"Sexuality is interesting," Richard mused. "Without even the promise of intercourse humans will act against their own self-interest. You'll break regulations, steal, fight, even kill."

"Maybe you could learn a thing or two. Like how to show a little passion. Your whole _I live for the mission_ thing is incredibly boring."

"You're hardly the Holmes to my Yoyo."

Reed scoffed. "Do you want to hear what I found out or not?"

"I'm sure you'll tell me regardless."

Nothing impressed that piece of shit. "Last six transactions were run as credit, but our boy Lew always did debit and got cash back. If they weren't at the same grocery store the charges were generally at gas stations for about two fifty -- fifty for gas, two hundred cash back. The six weird charges are all between here and Lansing. They're in a few diners, convenience stores, hardware stores. Places all one step away from being off the grid entirely." 

The sorts of places folks knew not to ask questions.

He pulled a small notebook out of the pocket hidden behind the breast of his jacket and mapped out some rough landmarks: the Canadian border, lakes St. Clair and Erie, and a bold dot each for Detroit and Lansing. Between the two he drew a line to represent I-96, and speckled the north side of the highway with six scattered stars. He triumphantly chucked it on the table. Richard leaned over to evaluate it. One through six in a neat little row, west to east, moving back toward Detroit.

"A supply run," he surmised.

"Exactly. If even one of these places has a security camera we might be able to ID someone. We might even find Naomi."

Richard's face changed by just a few degrees, but after that his expression was indecipherable, gone from flat determination to... something foreign. Something unsettling. Uncanny. It made his skin itch. Made everything underneath itch, too. 

Reed disentangled himself from that iron-eyed stare and moved into the hallway. He needed air. A cigarette. Something.

Something. _Something._ He knew exactly what.

"Anyway," he said, voice a touch too loud for the enclosed space, "just-- take another look around. Make some phone calls or something."

_Something._

He darted for the door, fingers already delving into the dwindling pack of Camels in his jacket. The exterior hallway was heavy with the pungently thick smell of salvia, low quality, seeping out front under one of the neighboring doors. It did nothing to improve his disposition. A few fumbles with his match had the cigarette burning in his lungs in short, sharp relief that took the worst of the edge off.

 _This isn't gonna keep doing the trick,_ he thought grimly. But he dutifully sucked it down like the lifeline it was. Richard emerged from the building as he finished pulling the cigarette clean down to the filter. Reed tensed. There was a loaded silence.

"If I ask after your welfare, is it going to be met with hostility?"

"Depends. Why do you give a shit?"

"Your welfare is crucial to the investigation," Richard responded. _Nice,_ Reed thought. It didn't really hurt his feelings, but it was laughably cold. "Like it or not, we are partners for the next six months barring some unforeseeable catastrophe." 

He didn't sound very much as if he had a preference either way. Maybe he and Richard were on the same fucking page for once. Reed tipped his head back in a show of cockiness, narrowed his eyes, and flicked the spent Camel to the ground. It landed between Richard's feet. Those glacial eyes tracked its progress thoughtfully, but Reed wanted them on _him._ Wanted the cheap, heady thrill of his military-grade, snap-your-neck-in-a-second attention.

Come to think of it, that was kind of fucked up.

He stepped in closer anyway, the sort of close that tended to drive suspects and fuck buddies crazy for very different, very similar reasons. Richard looked down his perfectly straight nose at him, completely unruffled. The most reaction he gave was that his full, soft-looking mouth mildly pursed. It pissed Reed off. He could feel his heart work harder in his chest.

"September, huh?" He watched Richard's gaze flick down to his mouth, no doubt analyzing it with unbiased expertise. A regular guy would have fixated on the gleam of his tongue and the flash of light over the line of his slightly crooked bottom teeth, disarming in their charm. He darted his tongue out to wet his lower lip anyway. Gavin Reed was nothing if not committed. "Can't wait," he breathed.

Richard remained stock-still just long enough for Reed to go from wondering what he was going to do to if he was doing to do anything. Then he closed the gap by an intimate amount, head slightly canted to speak more directly into Reed's ear and replied at the same volume.

"We just received contact from the precinct. There's been another murder."

Reed flinched; withdrew.

Richard smiled.

\---

When they got to the small suburban two-story, Reed was surprised to see Anderson's dilapidated car on-site. He double-parked the Charger and looked around for the man in question, who was easy to spot in the sea of officers with his height and the gaudy shirt under his black jacket. He was a sore thumb, to put it kindly. Reed got out of the car, ready for a fight, crossing the holotape line double-time.

"The hell are you doing here? Is this our case or yours?"

"Fine, thanks," Anderson sneered. "How are you."

"Fucking great. Answer the question."

Richard pulled up alongside him, dropping a hand on his shoulder, and long experience observing body language made him look down at Richard's feet. The android's sleek black dress shoes were aligned with his, pointed in the same direction as his weathered boots. Camaraderie. In essence, pledged to square off against Anderson as well, at least theoretically. His voice was sweet, or maybe it just seemed that way in comparison to the neutral way he dealt with Reed. "It is a good question. Two teams can hardly be necessary for such a small operation."

"I mean, it is a _murder,_ " Anderson returned, but with far less hostility than he'd used speaking to Reed.

 _I don't have time for this._ Reed shrugged Richard's hand from his shoulder, which tingled strangely from the absence of his touch all the way inside.

If Anderson was a sore thumb, Connor was a neon sign. Reed pressed past the personnel taking notes and pictures inside to find Anderson's pet standing in the open kitchen, front row center to a jarringly familiar scene.

There was a dead woman at the table, head lolled back, an expression of shock on her face. She was as naked and out-of-place as Lew Saunders had been in an otherwise clean, welcoming setting. Reed could see she was devoid of jewelry: there was an indentation on her left ring finger where a band would go, no earrings in her piercings. He wondered if he knew her from somewhere.

"I thought this might be familiar to you," Connor said by way of greeting.

"Spitting image," he replied. "How'd you know? I haven't uploaded that report yet."

"I spent some time with Richard last night," Connor said mildly. For a moment Reed wildly misconstrued -- _brain-searing mental image, thank you, Astroboy_ \-- before settling his face back into a scowl. "I'm helping him get acclimated to the city."

"Android ambassador," said Reed shortly. He knelt down and gloved his hands before checking the wrists and knees. Sure enough, the knees were bruised, but there was too much postmortem softness for Reed to gauge on the wrists. "Since you know so much, who do we got here?"

"Laura Sweeley. Thirty-seven years old. She worked in the Comerica building as a loans specialist. Laura's criminal record has one entry with the Detroit Police Department: a breaking and entering conviction at age nineteen."

Laura. Yeah, Elle 'the-Elle-is-for-lesbian' Sweeley. He'd gone to high school with her, but he didn't remember her graduating. Shit. 

"I somehow doubt this is related," Reed dryly replied.

"Everything is worth considering," Connor shrugged.

"Maybe at a billion exaflops a minute or whatever, but I didn't have breakfast this morning."

"That's a shame," Connor said brightly. "Your mood is better when you've eaten."

Reed gave him the dead eyes he usually reserved for interrogations and seeing an ex at the grocery store. Connor wisely went quiet. "Thirium stains anywhere?"

"Yes," said Connor, staying put as Reed started going through cabinets and drawers. "In the hallways."

Reed stilled. "Hall _ways?_ Upstairs, too?"

"And in the basement. There was no discernable pattern."

"Cool. That's not culty or anything." He stood up as Richard entered. "You could have told me it was the same exact fucking murder," he said to him crossly.

"I wasn't certain," Richard replied, unruffled. "I hadn't seen it for myself. No offense intended, Connor.

Connor smiled. "None taken. Are we agreed that I can transfer the file to your custody?"

"Yes. You can initiate the transfer."

The heat rose up the back of Reed's neck. "Who the hell is in charge of this investigation, anyway?"

"Do you disagree that we should take charge of the case?"

"Answer the question!"

"You are," replied Richard impatiently.

"Then I'm the one that makes that decision," Reed said, glaring murder not at Richard, but at Connor.

So of course that was when Anderson chose to walk in. 

"What the hell is all the yelling about?"

Reed pointed at Connor, the gesture sharp and hateful. "Hank, if I had a fucking drink for every time I had to tell you two to mind your own _fucking_ business--"

"Control yourself," Richard snapped.

"I am in control. Fuck you, pretty boy."

"Go outside. Smoke or count to ten or do whatever it is that you do to make yourself remotely tolerable."

"You don't have to like me, _Rick,_ " Reed sneered, "but you do have to listen to me."

"That's where you're wrong, Detective. I advise you take a break before you embarrass yourself."

"Embarrass _my_ self --"

He barely saw the fucker move.

Richard was on him in a blink, cheetah-fast, _Connor_ -fast, and had him hauled up by the lapel, his dominant hand twisted up behind his back. Not hard enough to hurt. Just hard enough to just him know that where there was smoke, there could be fire. He was yanked flush against Richard's front. The proximity, the promise, kicked a horrible thrill up his spine. The kind of thrill he liked. The kind no one could give him --

The thing was, Richard seemed just as startled as he was.

He recovered quickly, though, distastefully peeling Reed off his immaculate shirtfront and marching him toward the back door, wrist still effortlessly twined up between his shoulderblades. The fucking light on his temple settled for yellow after a few cautionary flicks of red. He effortlessly shoved Reed out into the backyard and closed the door behind him.

"Let's talk philosophy," he snapped.

Reed turned on him like a junkyard dog, trapped between Richard and the fence. It was a small backyard, not much more than a concrete landing and some scrubby patches of grass. It took him a moment to place the reference. Right. In the car, outside Beverly Saunders' well-kempt house with the classic yellow siding. "Fuck you."

Richard scoffed. "Is that what it's going to take to get you to listen to me? It hasn't even been a week as your partner and I would be willing to seriously consider it if it meant you _shut up_ and worked harmoniously with me for five minutes."

"Flattering," Reed spat, "but know-it-all carbon copies aren't my type. Try again when I'm drunk, though, see how that goes."

"Detective, we aren't going back inside until we've reached an understanding."

"What, right here in the yard? What will the neighbors think?"

Richard's hands flexed. Once. Closed, then open again. _Get a fucking grip,_ Reed told himself. _He's just an android. Don't let him get to you --_

"We're going to get something cleared up right here, right now." Richard stepped in, towered over Reed, those extra few inches making a world of difference. "In all honesty, I don't care if you believe I feel, or think, or make my own decisions. What you do when you're alone is your business." He held Reed's eyes with that awful moonlight stare. "But for the sake of our working relationship, you're going to at least pretend that you _do._ "

Reed's jaw clenched, but it seemed wise in that moment to exercise his right to remain silent.

"I actually do understand this is difficult for you." Richard withdrew slowly. Reed felt some of the tension in his stomach unknot. "It's a trying time for everyone. But humans are famous for their ability to adapt. I'm sure you can manage."

"Are you done or what?"

"Do we have an understanding?"

"What if we don't?"

"I suppose you'll find out," Richard said pragmatically. "Can we return to work now? I'd like to maximize our daylight on the scene."

Reed slowly, slowly withdrew a cigarette from the pack in his pocket and lit up. "After you," he said, voice strained.

He stood his ground.

Richard silently swept back into the house, the door clicking shut quietly behind him. Reed heard him tell the Dynamic Duo that he and Reed would take it from there, yes, he was certain they would not need help, yes, Reed was currently in the backyard having a cigarette, yes, thank you, Connor, he was sure they had everything under control. It seemed even Richard couldn't escape the unnecessary social obligation to say goodbye.

There was blessed silence.

Richard opened the door again a few minutes later. "Detective, you really ought to see this."

Reed brushed the cherry out of his cigarette and pocketed the remainder. He unwillingly followed Richard back into the kitchen, where Laura Sweeley was still giving the ceiling her terrified, open-mouthed stare. "What do you got?"

"Connor's observation about the thirium was correct, but I believe we ought to revisit the Saunders apartment. The front door of this house has been marked." He pulled a blacklight out of his jacket as he led Reed through the house and out the front door, which he closed behind them.

Reed could make out a tacky substance on the front door. It was difficult to make out any kind of pattern until Richard shone the blacklight on it to reveal a stylized flame. There was an unfinished quality to it, like it had been applied with spraypaint and a stencil.

"Is this thirium?"

"It is," said Richard. "Still in the evaporation stage."

"So this scene is only a few hours old."

"Yes, less than six. I've already requested the camera footage for the ten surrounding blocks."

"Great," Reed said, surprising himself by meaning it. "Do you recognize this symbol?"

"One of many symbols used by the Sons of the Covenant. The Southern Poverty Law Center has listed them as a hate group since 2036."

"Thank you, I know who the Sons of the Covenant are. What's the symbol?"

"Unknown. There hasn't been a record of its usage in the database since 2034."

"Great," Reed said flatly. "Get some pictures or whatever. Did the victim have the same injuries as Lew Saunders?"

"There was potentially a different caliber of weapon involved, but she was still executed by small-arms fire."

"But you saw the knees and the wrists."

"I did. I don't like to jump to conclusions, but this feels like a pattern."

"Was her girlfriend an android?"

"Vivian. No surname. An ST300, formerly utilized in the Comerica building as a receptionist."

"So that's two birds, one stone, since Laura worked there too." 

"Unfortunately, Vivian's record of employment with Comerica ends October 3. The records I have access to indicate she failed a security check in late September and was to be picked up October 2 and returned to Cyberlife for a systems review. She left the building and did not return for her scheduled pickup."

"So, what, she deviated and went no-call no-show?"

"That's correct." 

Richard looked strangely pleased. It was unsettling. Reed broke away to go back to casing the house. "The thirium splatters at Lew Saunders' house. How does that look compared to the stuff here?"

"If you preconstruct a relationship between these two cases you may miss vital information."

"It's called instinct," Reed sniffed. "I'm not gonna _not_ consider all the facts."

"I just don't want something to be overlooked."

"That's what you're here for, right?" He swept by Richard who, to his credit, was actively scanning the foyer. "The lean, mean multitasking machine. What do Lew Saunders and Laura Sweeley have in common?"

Richard frowned, but humored him anyway. "Obviously the factor that stands out is that they were both in relationships with androids. They were in their thirties. Both have criminal records."

"Lew was a jailbird?"

"He spent six months at Parnall Correctional Facility for felony trespassing in 2037. We can review the details later."

 _Dead end. Okay._ "How about Vivian? We used to have ST300s manning the front desk at the precinct. They're designed mainly for receptionist work, right? What's Naomi?"

"Naomi is an AC700. That's a personal trainer," Richard replied, folding his arms. "Detective, we should exhaust this house of possibilities before engaging in conjecture."

"Fine." But he wasn't going to stop thinking about it. Their inspection of the house turned up a purchase confirmation for two train tickets, departure the day prior.

"If Vivian is missing, this fits the pattern."

"If."

"I wonder if Naomi and Vivian knew other."

"I believe the expression _like a dog with a bone_ applies here."

"Why Detroit, huh? Why the central station? Anywhere in the world and you show up here. L.A., New York, hell, Baltimore would have been right down the street from the Pentagon..."

"I told you," Richard said, mildly nonplussed. "I'm interested in your methods."

" _My_ methods."

"Yes."

"Like, me specifically, Gavin Reed, Detective, Detroit Police."

"Adaptability under fire is the most valuable of human traits. It isn't teachable; it's rarely trainable. When the Secretary of Defense gives you the option to choose your assignment, you take exactly what you want and you thank him for the opportunity."

An unfamiliar feeling bubbled through his stomach. He didn't have a word for it. He could see the path Richard's eyes tracked across his face, reading microexpressions at lightning speed. He was probably an open book to that plastic piece of shit. _Fantastic. At least that way one of us can know what I'm feeling._ "So I'm your trial run. Your beta test."

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

"Definitely gives me the warm fuzzies. Look, we're not finding shit, and it's because we already knew where to look. I'm right, you're wrong, end of story." He looked over at Laura Sweeley and shook his head. It really was a shame.

Richard's frown was measured, but not as disapproving as Reed expected. _Because I'm right,_ Reed told himself. The win filled him with an unexpected surge of contentment that he wasn't sure what to do with. 

\---

There was no next of kin.

The closest they had been able to find were Laura's friends from work and the head of Vivian's integration support group. Diane was a Chloe model with dark brown hair and gentle brown eyes that unwillingly reminded Reed of Connor.

"Vivian didn't come to last week's meeting, but, of course, attendance isn't mandatory," Diane said, "just encouraged. We will reach out to Vivian and if she returns our message we'll urge her to contact to the police department."

"So that was a bust," Reed muttered as they descended the steps of the Office of Population Health. "Don't you guys have like, an internal messaging app? Can't you just call her?"

"That capability was restricted to only those models who required it, such as those whose job functions entailed security or police work. It was an optional upgrade. My understanding is that the Jericho party is offering upgrades on a voluntary basis."

"Just say no."

"If she was contactable I would have contacted her, Detective."

Tenth grade chemistry. That's where he knew her from. She never showed up to class. She'd lived in a hotel because her parents kicked her out at sixteen. He'd envied her dark green hair.

"Well, the parents are probably a no-go. What about the sister?"

Yellow, yellow, blue. "The sister died of an overdose in 2033. Do you know this woman, Detective?"

"We weren't close. We went to the same high school." He'd graduated in the top half, with a lackluster GPA and a lacrosse scholarship to U of M. Elle's parents threw her out junior year for being a dyke. She worked at some fast food joint, last he heard. He got his lacrosse scholarship revoked for weed, battled depression with increasingly harder drugs, fell headlong into addiction, and dropped into rehab just shy of his projected graduation. Somehow, _somehow,_ he'd been dragged back from the brink. Somehow, Elle had netted herself a four-year degree.

Now he was a cop and Elle was dead.

_I guess there's all sorts of ways to get lost._

Richard had a strange look on his face that Reed couldn't begin to try to place in his current state of mind. "You weren't close to her, but you're asserting we shouldn't contact her parents."

"We both went to our ten year reunion. She said she cut ties with them."

"Isn't that kind of isolation uncommon in humans?"

"Not if you're gay." He slid past Richard and headed for the car, unwilling to deal with any reaction.

Of course an android wasn't going care if he was gay. They hadn't programmed fundie androids -- at least, they better not have. He had the names and addresses of enough CyberLife employees to start putting boots to asses if they had. But after almost four decades of dealing with that shit Reed felt like he had the right to let that clueless bastard figure some things out on his own. He pulled them back out onto the road, fingers drumming the wheel incessantly, fervently praying for a cigarette.

His mind wandered as he settled. There was a thick pillar of dark smoke rising in the air a few miles away. It looked like a full on rolling blaze. _Bet the snow melts on that block,_ Reed thought darkly. _Unlucky son of a bitch._

After a comfortable enough pause, Richard looked over at him. "Where are we going?"

"Back over to Lew Saunders'. I want to look at the door."

"Understandable."

There was another pause, this one less easy. Reed finally glanced over to see Richard was sitting with his hands neatly folded in his lap, his legs stretched out just enough to suggest comfort. But the look on his face...

"What's wrong," Reed asked, failing to hide the strain in his voice.

"I understand that you're used to working independently, but..." Richard was clearly choosing his words carefully. "I am, too. It's all I know. And while I'm willing to at least partially weather your natural contentiousness, that does _not_ extend to surrendering all the decision-making to you."

Reed chewed on that one for a minute. It seemed -- kind of fair. At the very least, whether or not Richard could think or feel or preen or kiss ass, he sure could raise hell about it. He could see where it would mean things went a little more smoothly. "And?"

"That means you don't get to haul me around like equipment."

Reed rolled his eyes. 

Richard shifted in his seat. Reed immediately snapped his focus to the emergency brake and nearly missed their final turn as a result. _Damn. That's gonna be hard to forget about._ "Fine," he said, but the rest of his retort was lost to the chaotic scene ahead of them:

Lew and Naomi Saunders' apartment building was pouring smoke. Reed could see intense flame through the sliding glass door of the balcony. "Damn it," he hissed, stopping the Charger across the street.

Richard got out.

Reed didn't think anything of it until Richard had briskly advanced past the two firetrucks and the holotape line serving as a boundary between civilians and the poorly contained chaos, past the first responders in full protective gear, past the --

"Where the fuck are you going? Hey," Reed called, "will somebody stop that dumbass?"

But Richard had already flashed his badge and ascended into the fiery haze.

The logical, normal, correctly functioning part of Reed's brain sighed and said _well, damn, that's over with. The paperwork on this is gonna be a total bitch._

The part of his brain driven to protect and serve saw a person in danger and pushed him physically out of the car. 

He barely remembered to shut the door before bolting after Richard, who had already disappeared into the building. Reed made it all the way up to the landing before the increased outpour of smoke made continuing impossible.

"Detective," came the muffled shout of a first responder -- a paramedic, he didn't recognize them through all the safety gear, that grabbed his arm and started pulling backwards -- "it is _way_ too dangerous for you to be up here --"

"My partner just went in there," Reed snapped, trying to shake the grip. His center of gravity was low enough, thighs thick and strong enough, that he was essentially immovable from his position on the landing. "Get the fuck off me --"

But the rest of his sentence was lost to the sudden blast of heat and smoke that poured out of the entryway in an oppressive wall. Reed threw his arm up over his eyes, shielding his face with the leather of his jacket. He could feel the blistering intensity sear his exposed skin. The paramedic got a successful hold of him and hauled him, stumbling, down the stairs of the landing.

Out of the pillar of acrid smoke, unscathed but for a minor smattering of soot on his clothes, emerged Richard. He was perfectly calm, collected, not even breathing unevenly. _He doesn't need to breathe,_ Reed reminded himself. _He isn't fucking human._

"I'll concede your point," Richard called over the crackling, shifting building. He descended the steps, casually divesting the paramedic of Reed's arm as he swept by, guiding him dumbly back to the safety of the holotape boundary. "About the connection between the two murders. Their door was painted with the same symbol. Regrettably, the light levels were fluctuating too quickly for me to take a court-admissible record of it."

Reed tried to speak, but only managed a thick, smoke-ridden cough, coarse with fire and adrenaline.

"You need fresh air, Detective, we'll stand outside the car for a few minutes."

"Arson," Reed choked out, "mother _fuckers_ \--"

"I've alerted the precinct," Richard cut in smoothly. "They are putting a detail on the Sweeley house."

Reed leaned on the car and fished in his pocket for his cigarettes. Richard stopped him with that iron grip, pinning Reed's wild eyes with his calm, penetrating stare. "Cigarette consumption is inadvisable at the best of times."

Reed let out another cough, this one wetter, more substantial than the first. Finally, clarity. His eyes watered. "Better than the alternative," he said, voice gravelly from the tenderness of his throat. Inexplicably, Richard's pupils expanded, turning the unearthly grey-or-was-it-blue into a captivatingly narrow ring. Reed was dimly aware of his own chest heaving, heart doing deadlifts against his sternum. "Get off me."

Richard dropped his wrist as though it had burned him. _Logical impossibility._ But there it was anyway; Reed's life was a precarious Jenga tower of logical impossibilities, and he was stuck on one of the upper strata waiting for collapse. He scrabbled for the car door handle and wrenched it open.

"Where are we going?"

"Station," rasped Reed.

"Were you planning on going home after that? It's nearly five. I can finish the preliminary paperwork myself so you can start your weekend. This is only the middle of my first work week."

It was remarkably thoughtful. Reed hated it. "Do what you want," he muttered, starting the engine.

He dropped Richard at the precinct and turned the Charger back toward the house, mulishly lighting a cigarette as soon as he was out of the lot. The empty silence from the passenger seat was somehow more oppressive than Richard's presence. 

He blew a lungful of smoke at it for good measure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fucking trash man, amirite fellas?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Please just go." He signaled for another drink and scowled at the kiss she left on his cheek. She gathered her jacket off the stool next to him and made herself scarce.
> 
> The stool wasn't empty for five minutes before it was filled by a welcome presence.

_easy, ready, willing, overtime_  
_where does it stop_  
_where do you dare me_  
_to draw the line_  
  
(hall  & oates - i can't go for that)

 

 

Jordan, in Reed's estimation, had always been a bitch. But because he tended to see the worst in people he let it slide. If Tina was happy, he could at least outwardly pretend to not hate her.

But the fact was, he despised her. She was a climber, a no-class drama factory, a pretty face mounted on the trophy wall over a heartless chest. Plastic. Fucking fake. If he'd had an ex-wife, he was sure Jordan could play her in the movie. Luckily he didn't have an ex-wife and was probably going to live and die in relative obscurity, safe from Hollywood's prying eyes and Jordan's psycho controlling attitude.

He came home from work to Tina in the middle of his bed, in her underwear and his shirt, halfway to tanked on cheap white wine. She had his TV turned to reality show reruns, thankfully on mute.

"You have your own pajamas," he pointed out.

"Your shirt is softer."

"Move over," he groused, heading for the shower. Instead she followed him to the bathroom, not caring that he was stripping naked as he went.

"Something happen?"

"Got two cases falling apart," he replied, cutting the water on directly to boiling lava hot and stepping underneath. "Whoever killed these people is burning shit up to cover their tracks."

"Double murder or separate incidents?"

"Some freaky serial killer shit. Can we talk about something else?" He felt weirdly vulnerable behind the shower curtain with Tina's silhouette throwing indescribable shadows. Couldn't get Elle's naked, slack-jawed deathmask out of his head. "You got any more wine?"

She passed a glass tumbler of wine through the shower curtain. "Already on it, chief."

"Did you bring this with you or what?" He took a long swallow, satisfied with the sweetness.

"Got it at the store. Fowler made me take a half day so I thought _fuck it_ and came straight here."

"I'm glad he did. You looked like shit."

"Yeah? What's your excuse?"

"I work for a living."

She laughed easily. The sound was good to hear. "That guy at my gym asked about you again."

"Did you tell him I was a son of a bitch?"

"I told him he wasn't getting anywhere if he was a bottom."

Reed scowled, tore the curtain open, and gave Tina a quick blast from the showerhead. She shrieked and threw her freezing cold wine on him. He shouted back and wrenched the curtain shut again. "You fucking _harpy!_ "

Tina cackled. "You love me!"

"Debatable." He washed up quickly, not trusting her to forego further shenanigans. "Did you get any of your stuff out?"

"I just brought what I took on vacation over here. I didn't, you know, want to stay in the house too long, I... I didn't want her to come home while I was there."

"Yeah." Reed cut the water and dried off, slinging the towel around his waist to hunt down some clothes. He emerged in sweatpants and a t-shirt to find Tina dramatically draped over the bed.

"You didn't tell me your new partner was a clone," she said. "I thought I was still drunk."

"Sorry about your delicate sensibilities. He's such a fucking pain in the ass."

"What's his name?"

" _Richard,_ " he seethed.

"Ugh!"

"Right?"

"Is he seriously the same model? That's gotta be awkward."

"No, he's an RK900 model, and he's built like a freaking tank. He's like Connor went to the gym."

"At least he's cute," Tina said, pouring herself another glass.

"Sure, if you like MMA fighters that could put you through a wall as soon as look at you."

"You _do_ like that."

"Okay, _first of all--_ "

Tina gave him a meaningful look over the rim of her glass. "Facts are facts."

"Tina, give me the god damn remote." He switched them over to the weather channel, still muted. Tomorrow was partly cloudy, highs in the upper 40s. They played fuck-marry-kill over the newest wave of beat cops until Tina fell asleep mid-sentence with her mouth open and started quietly snoring.

\---

The next morning it was 37 and raining.

Reed gently peeled Tina out from where she was securely tucked up under his arm, thick black hair spiralled over his bare chest. "C'mon," he groaned. "You're drooling."

She made a very indiscreet slurping noise and huffed. "I am not," she fired back.

"You smell like a field of summer berries and I hate it."

"Okay, okay, I'm up." She was, thankfully, still wearing a shirt. He couldn't count the number of times he'd woken up with her naked tits crammed into his side. She rolled away and sleepily scratched her head. "Make me coffee."

"Make your own damn coffee."

"Gav! Don't be shitty. I'm having a really rough time."

"You seem to be doing just fine," he said, hauling himself out of bed. He stretched his aching lower back and went straight for his jacket.

His cigarettes were not in his pocket.

Fucking Tina.

"But enough about my horrible life that's falling apart," Tina said breezily, "what's up with you? I found a receipt in your jacket for a carton of cigarettes."

"It's cheaper that way."

"You smell like an ashtray! The least you could do is vape."

Reed gave her a Look. "If I'm gonna risk cancer I'm not gonna look like a shitbag while I do it."

Her tone got a little more serious. "But for real, can we talk about this?"

"What's there to talk about?"

"Gavin, you have to tell Lieutenant Shaw you're in recovery."

"First of all, I don't have to tell her shit."

"She needs to know what's going on."

"It isn't relevant!"

"You don't decide what's relevant to your personal psychology, idiot! She needs to know!"

"You need to mind your own fucking business."

"You are my business," she snapped.

"Tina, this isn't like me being a smoker or feeding that goddamn cat, this is serious. I could lose my job--"

"Know what else could lose you your job? Getting so pissed off you _lose your mind and smoke evidence._ "

"I have my shit under control, Tina!"

" _You don't have anything under control,_ Gavin! That's your whole fucking problem!"

He'd never heard her yell like that. Not in an active shooter situation, not when she made him leave his shitty ex, not ever.

But it wasn't like he could argue.

"You weren't there," she continued, voice hard and fragile. "You literally _weren't there._ You didn't have to see you get hauled onto a gurney and hooked up to who knew what fucking tubes and machines and lay there looking _dead._ " Her eyes threatened to spill over. She angrily swiped at them. "You piece of shit."

Reed reached out carefully, uncertainly, and put a comforting hand on her arm. She swatted it away.

"You know I don't have anyone else, Gavin. I can't lose you. I absolutely _refuse_ to lose you to your own selfishness."

"Tina, I'm not blowing you off, okay? Please just listen. I'm not a user. I just fucked up," Reed said sincerely. "It's not gonna happen again."

"You can't know that," Tina said.

"I went to rehab, okay? I think I'd know."

"You went to rehab for three weeks."

"Yeah, and it worked. I've been clean for fifteen years, Tina."

"No, you _were_ clean for fifteen years, now you've been clean for, what, four months?"

"Seventeen weeks," Reed said automatically. "Can we not play intervention before I've had some coffee?"

She slapped him.

It wasn't some dramatic telenovela slap, either. She backhanded the _shit_ out of him. His head cracked to the side and he stumbled against the kitchen counter, tasting blood. He reached up and gingerly cupped his cheek. 

"You hit me," he said.

"Stop playing around, you asshole!" Tina's face was red, tear-streaked. "I don't want you to fucking die!"

"I'm _fine!_ "

Reed caught her arm mid-swing that time and held it out wide. He expected her to struggle. He was fully prepared to fight her off. She'd made her point.

What he wasn't prepared for was her full-body collapse against his chest as she started sobbing in earnest. He could only make out parts of what she was saying, though there was a lot of _selfish_ and _stupid_ and _mother fucker._ He could smell the wine on her breath. 

He rubbed her back carefully. There was nothing to do for her but hold her there and wait for her to calm down.

"This is why we aren't getting married," Reed said softly in her ear. "Because you get like this."

Tina reached up and touched his cheek. It stung. He refused to flinch away. Her hands were work-rough, built up with years of calluses, but her nails were still painted a delicate pink. "I'm the best you'll ever have," she declared, sniffing.

"Please stop wiping snot on my shirt."

"I had your blood on me in that hospital bed. At least snot washes out."

He snorted. "No one made you stick by me."

Tina looked up at him somberly. "No one had to."

\---

Reed spent the rest of the day entertaining Tina to make up for being a thoughtless shitbag. He followed her from store to store in the mall, crinkled his nose at the chemical fumes during her pedicure, and refused to go with her into the lingerie store.

"Come on, Gavin," Tina pleaded, two notches shy of a full on whine.

"No way. I am not going in there and getting mistaken for your boyfriend or whatever while you blow a whole paycheck on slutty rebound panties."

"And bras. Y'know, they wouldn't think we were dating if you weren't so..." She eyed him meaningfully.

"So what? _Me?_ "

"You said it," Tina replied breezily. "Not me." She made confidently for the boutique's door.

And there was no way she was baiting him into following her by holding an argument hostage. _Sure, Tina, I'll just switch back to earrings and muscle tanks. Then everyone in the mall can gawk at the overgrown fag._

He was getting too old for that shit anyway.

Reed spent the next hour on a bench a few doorways down out of sheer refusal to look like he was too scared to go in and shop for sexy underwear with his woman. He only paused long enough for a cheap food court pop in the hopes that he could feed himself enough caffeine to forget he never did make his morning coffee. When Tina finally emerged it was with three faux-elegant bags stuffed to the brim with what looked like half the display. She tried to offer him one to carry.

"No way," he said, stuffing his free hand into his pocket.

"C'mon, be a good sport. Maybe there's something for you in here."

"Over my dead body."

"Ooh," Tina said. "Foreshadowing." She leaned all the way in and took a slurp of his watery drink. "Disgusting. Are we going out later?"

"Only if you absolutely do not tell me what you're wearing under your clothes. I don't need that in my life."

"It's a deal."

They rode back to his apartment in companionable quiet. Reed even graciously gave Tina first crack at the shower, knowing she was going to take a billion years doing her hair and makeup anyway. While she showered, he went to the half bath and finally shaved. Not straight-razor clean -- he preferred not looking like a chronically tired late-twenty-something -- but electric trimmer rough. The trimmed look took any lingering softness out of his face and left him with nothing but scars and mean, shadowed angles.

Fine by him. People that couldn't handle him left him alone. And the ones left over, well... they picked up the slack nicely.

"Shower's open," Tina finally yelled down the hall.

He wrangled himself into the bathroom around her. How was the shower 'open' if she was still collecting her eighty billion bottles? "Pick somewhere to go?"

"Duh," said Tina. "The Blue Oyster."

Right. Of course. The new place on Jefferson. Tina had always been the kind to milk a bar dry of prospective partners and then move on to the next one. It wasn't like Reed couldn't rise to the challenge. Hell, tonight it would probably help take his mind off the rest of his problems.

"I'm calling a cab," he told her, tapping out a request on his phone. "It's gonna be here in an hour. That's how long you have to get ready. Don't think for a second I won't leave without your ass."

Of course, he'd set the request for an hour fifteen, but she didn't have to know that.

Tina was miraculously ready by the forty five minute mark, but he knew she hadn't looked at the clock before diving into her suitcase for "something sexy." She emerged in a stylish dark blue dress that showed off her strong arms and shoulders, and black heels that looked sharp enough to be murder weapons.

"That's what you're wearing?" she said, scowling.

Reed looked down at his clothes. Dark jeans, nice fit, belt conspicuously absent of his badge, black shoes of a dressier variety that he couldn't really get away with in their line of work. A long-sleeved V-neck of his usual preference, black, fitted. Extremely regular shit. "What's the problem?"

"That's how you dress at work."

"Yeah, these are my clothes. How many times do we have to have this argument? Unless you have a little black dress in my size, I'm gonna go ahead and advertise what I'm selling."

"You hardly ever go home with anybody."

"Men don't have to make it home to get it done, T. Besides, I'd be a shitty friend if I left your dumb drunk ass somewhere just so I could get laid."

Tina burst out laughing. "Gavin, I'm a fucking cop. It's not your job to make sure I get in my carriage before midnight."

"Yes, it is," Reed snapped. "You're my friend."

"Say that again for the livestream. I want everyone to know Gavin Reed has emotions."

"Look, do you have a dress for me or not?"

Tina rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

"Then I'm sticking to this. Let's go."

One thing Reed disliked about ordering a cab ahead of time was that they were usually self-driving vehicles. He was never going to get used to autonomous driving. He didn't care about reports comparing accident rates between manually-driven and driverless cars. He just couldn't get all those videos and news reports from the earlier stages of the industry. Passenger deaths, pedestrian deaths, lawsuit after lawsuit -- not a single one imbued with the power to give those people their lives back.

But, you know, still. Don't drink and drive, so...

Except when their cab pulled up to the curb it wasn't driverless at all. David Saunders regarded them from behind the wheel with guarded curiosity, LED a steady yellow.

"Detective Reed," he greeted, clearly uncomfortable.

Well, Reed could hardly blame him. "Mr. Saunders," he returned, shooting Tina a warning glare. Whatever one-night-stand joke she had queued up died on her lips. "Sorry. I know this is awkward."

"No, it's all right," David replied. He seemed to mean it. "We've actually been worried, knowing how seriously you folks take your jobs. It's nice to see you can take the breaks you're supposed to." He waited for them to buckle in before pulling away from the curb. "My mom will be really happy to hear it."

Oh. That was actually... kind of nice.

Rather than keep up the struggling conversation, David turned the radio to an inoffensive classic rock station. _Professional,_ Reed thought. He got them to their destination in record time, knowing just what route to take and when to floor it through a yellow light. Hell, he'd gotten them there almost as efficiently as Reed could have, and Reed drove his Charger confident in the knowledge that he was untouchable as far as speeding tickets were concerned.

So, yeah, he left a sizeable tip.

"Give your mom my best," he blurted out for lack of something better to say, and though he inwardly cringed David turned a smile on him that was brighter than he'd seen most humans. Its shadow stayed on his face even as he pulled off.

"'Give your mom my best,'" Tina gently mocked him. "Jesus, Gavin."

"I didn't know what else to say," he snapped, flustered. "Cut me some fucking slack."

And she did. Tina was great like that. She never pushed too hard, and she only doted on him when absolutely necessary. It made him feel like going out of his way to be semi-tolerable most of the time, and even made those lonely three in the morning self-loathing sessions finite. All he had to do if he got too hung up on himself was think about what Tina would tell him -- or, if it got really bad, text her.

And she always texted back. No matter how many nights in a row he pulled that shit.

"Why are you looking at me like that," Tina nervously said. "Is there something on my face?"

Reed scoffed. "Damn, not everything's about you."

He swept off and left her to scramble after him in those ridiculous shoes. She was laughing. "You dumb prick."

"So what's your game plan?"

"Uh, be sexy and nail the first hottie that comes my way, duh," Tina said, flipping her loose hair over her shoulder. She had styled it meticulously in careless waves. "Or get tanked and pay for our cab home, since you got the one here."

"My favorite part of this is your assumption I can't find someone to fuck me either."

"Gav, you look like a closeted history professor that just found out he's getting laid off at the end of the semester."

"I hate this backstory."

"You never really _liked_ it at the community college, but you kept the job for its perks, like how you keep getting older and the TAs stay the same age."

"This is just how I dress!"

"Yeah, about that."

"Thirty-seven isn't old!"

"Can I get a Cape Cod, please?"

"Double of Crown Royal. Cut."

"Jesus, Gavin."

"I told you I need to wind down."

An hour and two doubles of whiskey later, he was starting to do exactly that -- even if Tina had abandoned him for the first woman to order her another of whatever she was having. He was nursing his third drink when she returned to his side, surprisingly stable despite matching her new friend shot for shot, cheeks flushed. She looked thrilled.

"Any luck?"

"Her name is Jocelyn and she's _gorgeous._ And her roommate is home. Can I, you know, borrow your place for the night...?"

"This is why you straightened up the living room, isn't it? You sneaky, conniving --"

"You had three different hoodies on the arm of the couch, Gav. Three is a lot. I did what had to be done."

"Just -- ugh. Text me when you know if I can come back. And change my fucking sheets." He grudgingly handed over his keys. She returned a handful of twenties.

"For a hotel, you know, in case."

"For a -- why the hell don't _you_ go to a hotel?"

"Because a hotel doesn't have a sound system or a washing machine. And it isn't _seemly._ I can't invite a lady back to _a hotel,_ Mr. Reed."

"Please just go." He signaled for another drink and scowled at the kiss she left on his cheek. She gathered her jacket off the stool next to him and made herself scarce.

The stool wasn't empty for five minutes before it was filled by a welcome presence.

"Having a good time?" asked the dark-eyed stranger from the other night.

"I'm having a time, at least."

That got him a charmed grin. Reed wasn't sure why, but he'd take it. Dark Eyes was looking just as good as the other night in a form-hugging shirt and jeans that didn't leave anything a mystery. He looked younger up close, too; Reed had pegged him as early thirties, but the aura of confidence had done a lot to obscure his age. Shit. He was staring. He'd gotten caught, too. Dark Eyes definitely didn't seem to mind. He leaned a built arm on the edge of the bar and lounged comfortably.

Reed cleared his throat. "Get you something to drink?"

"Nah, I'm driving. Well, I _was_ driving. I got ditched. You know how it is."

He did. He took another sip of whiskey. Dark Eyes watched his throat as he swallowed. "Still holding out hope, huh?"

"Well, even if they don't come back, I can always give someone else a ride."

Reed swore he could feel his pupils dilate. "Oh yeah? You're a regular good Samaritan."

Dark Eyes' laugh was about as attractive as he'd predicted. "My name's Jack."

"Gavin," Reed replied. Maybe it was all the Crown Royal, but he was one hundred percent buying whatever Jack was selling.

"I've seen you around," Jack said, "but, honestly, I didn't have the spine to come over until tonight."

Well. _That_ was strangely gratifying. "Yeah? What changed?"

"Honestly? You seemed pretty unapproachable. Everyone I've seen you with has kind of this... danger to them, you know?" Jack held his gaze for a moment, looked away, checked in again. _You're definitely not shy,_ Reed thought. _What's with the hesitance?_

But then he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind the bar. What was soft, dramatic lighting on others was pretty unforgiving for him: sure, it all but erased the darkness under his eyes from years of working in homicide, but that put emphasis on the scars crisscrossing his face and the slight asymmetry it left him with as a result. The way his nose had obviously had to be repaired. The slight twist to the plane of his right cheek at the bottom of the eye socket where delicate skin made it obvious he'd gotten very, very lucky. He quickly looked away. Now wasn't the time to do inventory.

Fucking gay bars.

"But?" he prompted.

"I saw you with your friend," Jack admitted. "You were really sweet to her. Tonight and the other night, I mean. It made me worry a lot less about talking to you. I mean, not like I'm in a place to date, or anything, but... I'm new in town."

That made Reed laugh helplessly. "To Detroit? Why would you come _here?_ "

"Lots of opportunity out here," he said, and then he fucking winked.

And Reed couldn't explain, not even to himself, why that made him smile back and lean in, eyes half-lidded. "You think so?"

"Yeah. My whole thing is knowing what people want. Take you, for example." Jack checked to make sure the bartender was at a distance and leaned in to match Reed.

"Me."

"Yeah." Jack's hand, slow but confident, came to rest with his thumb hooked just inside the waist of Reed's jeans. "You're looking for someone to shove you against the wall and make you forget your own name."

Reed swallowed.

"Not without a fight, of course, but..." He looked Reed over again. Smiled. "You're very good at losing."

Reed wanted to play it cool.

But he also desperately wanted to get what he was after.

He took another swallow of whiskey. "Is that so?"

"Prove me wrong," Jack breathed.

Reed left cash on the bar and slid off the stool. The Crown Royal rushed up to meet him all at once, but he was more than capable of steadying himself. "Love to," he replied.

"Unless you had too much to drink." Jack brought his other hand around and cupped Reed's elbow. Reed had to look up at him. Jack was a little taller, broader in the chest than he'd realized. It pissed Reed off to remember Richard over his shoulder at Beverly Saunders' front door, imposing on his personal space. "Which, I mean, no judgment, we can pick this up some other time."

"Now's just fine," Reed blurted. His breathing had quickened just from that simple touch, but he could only find it in himself to be fleetingly embarrassed.

"Then I'll drive, if you don't mind," Jack said, and Reed stared, hypnotized by the perfect quirk of his mouth, until Jack took him by the wrist and pulled him toward the door. The circle of his hand, gentle but iron, did nasty things in Reed's head. His blood thrummed under Jack's cool-handed touch, pulse pounding.

Jack's car, a new silver Nissan of unfamiliar model, was parked among the employee cars at the back of the lot. The tint of the windows was nearly police-grade. Jack pulled him around to the passenger side and held him against the car by the wrist as he unlocked and opened the door. Manually, obviously for effect in the platinum age of convenience technology, but it worked. Reed gave him a sharp grin as he held the door open. He tested Jack's strength where he was pinned against the car, but he was effectively cemented in place. "Such a gentleman."

Jack held his wrist there a pointed moment longer than necessary before releasing him. It made Reed sigh. He felt his shoulders relax. "I try."

Reed got in the car slowly, head buzzing, noting the clean interior. Maybe a weird thing to notice on his way to hopefully go get wrecked within an inch of his life, but it was grounding. Nice face, new car, great body, fantastic personality. This guy was the Cadillac of one night stands -- the kind of guy Reed didn't dare to get in a real relationship with because he knew he'd fuck it up.

His unbelievably unsexy train of thought was interrupted by Jack getting in on the driver's side. The lot was dark, lit only by a streetlamp in the hotel parking adjacent to the bar. It was just bright enough to read Jack's intent -- the lust in his eyes, the playful smile interrupted when he looked down at Reed's lap and his mouth parted in a surprised _oh._ "I haven't even touched you yet."

"Guess I really like your car," Reed joked weakly.

"Then you'll love the features." He reached over for Reed's seatbelt and dragged it across his hips to buckle him in. The mechanism's click was satisfyingly loud. Reed impatiently grabbed for him, but Jack easily stilled his hands. "Do you want to see, or not?"

Reed scoffed. "I want you to quit wasting time."

"Relax." Jack teased him with a feather-light kiss and pressed his hands down by his sides, one against the armrest, the other on the center console. "We have all night to get to what you want. Right now we're going to do what _I_ want."

And with that he grabbed the shoulder strap of the seatbelt, pulled it out until it locked, and fed it back in until Reed's hips were trapped against the seat. Reed experimentally shifted. There was barely any give. Jack's clever hands unfastened his belt, lightning fast, and opened his jeans.

"Oh," Reed said as a pleasantly certain hand drew his cock out of his underwear. 

"Yeah," Jack replied sympathetically, and traced smooth fingers up the hot, swollen curve of him.

Reed quietly hissed, hungrily watching that magical thumb wind a firm swirl around the head of his dick, brushing maddeningly over the rapidly leaking slit. "Right here in the parking lot?"

"What, are you a cop? I said to relax, Officer," he laughed. "No one can see us." He brought his free hand up and pressed it solidly against Reed's sternum, pushing him back against the seat. Reed's hips twitched impotently against the seatbelt lock. 

Jack grinned at the noise that drew from him and pressed harder. Reed was pretty sure the sound qualified as a moan. He sank down in the seat as much as that broad hand allowed, thighs spreading against the constriction of his jeans. 

"Thought you'd like that," Jack said. He licked his lips. "I've got condoms in the glove box."

Reed stared at his mouth, entranced. "I'm clean," he replied. "Do what you want."

"I'm going to," Jack said, and bent over him to slide that beautiful mouth down the length of his cock generously enough to have a need to swallow.

"Shit," Reed groaned, and that was the last coherent thing he said. Jack's technique was flawless: the perfect counterpoint of dedicated wet heat and the kind of tongue that made his toes curl in his shoes. The first thing that made his breathing catch was the shift of Jack's free hand to his balls, massaging them through his underwear, adjusting him so that the whole of his package rested proudly above the cradle of his zipper.

The second thing was Jack's other hand sliding from his chest to his neck and pressing the plane of his palm to Reed's throat. His fingers curled, careful, testing. And maybe Sober Reed wouldn't have let a stranger do that, but Drunk Reed was more than happy to press forward into that grip and let it immediately grow more confident. He gladly panted into the proffered headrush until Jack released his throat and gave him a few moments to recover what little sense he had.

Slowly, tortuously slowly, Jack pulled away. Reed's dick painfully twitched its continued interest in the sight of his spit-slick, reddened mouth, at the thick trail of saliva strung between his cock and Jack's bottom lip. The back of his head thunked gently against the seat.

Jack studied him for a moment, taking in his disarray, and smiled when Reed returned his hand to his throat with shaking fingers.

"Good," he murmured, rewarding him with a vulgar lick, but the word alone was enough to send a shuddering sigh up Reed's spine. Jack's hand clenched where it sat on his windpipe, and his hips gave another futile stutter. _Good._ God, he was pathetic. He couldn't help himself. He never could. 

When Jack reinforced his statement with another crushing press of his hand and the hot drive of his mouth back onto Reed's cock, he could have cried if he'd had any air left. As it was, all he could do was what he did best: take it. His senses floated away from him on a haze of adrenaline and lightheadedness. 

He was distantly aware of his own hand pleadingly clutching Jack's hair, pulling, pushing, and when Jack's response was to hum his encouragement Reed lost his composure entirely. He trembled and shook apart at the seams without warning, struggling for air, crying out when his throat was released. Jack promptly crammed his fingers into Reed's mouth to muffle the sound. Reed could -- he could _feel_ Jack smirking around him, and that was it. He came with electric intensity, bowed over Jack's head, happy to be reduced to some panting, needy thing with his mouth crammed full.

It took an eternity for Reed to return to something resembling coherence. It was next to impossible to come to his senses with Jack dutifully continuing to lick and suck his softening cock. He leaned into the hand that was now resting gently on his cheek and made a pitiful sound, closer to a whine than to actual words.

Jack put up a finger to tell him to wait and finished cleaning up the sticky mess. This time the noise Reed made definitely crossed into the territory of a full-on cry. He squirmed, dick shifting in protest at the continued stimulation, and pressed on Jack's forehead until he finally let up.

"Good to have you back with us, Officer," he teased.

"This," Reed panted, "is _exactly_ why I don't go for younger guys. You never know when to quit."

"I know exactly when to quit," Jack said, eyes glittering in the half-light. "You should just let me call the shots." He unbuckled Reed's seatbelt, freeing him from the nylon prison.

Reed bared his teeth, but there was no venom in it.

Jack disentangled himself from where he had twisted out of the driver's seat to deliver the best blowjob in Reed's recent memory. He reached over and tucked Reed's dick back into place, zipped his jeans back up, and gave him a fond, firm pat between the legs. Reed hissed, hyper-aware of the sweat cooling on his chest, the small of his back, the crease of his elbows and his knees. God, he felt good. Jack leaned back and buckled his own seatbelt. "Younger guys," he scoffed. "How old do you think I am, anyway?"

"You can't even be thirty," Reed said. "I'd put money on twenty-five, twenty-six."

"You'd lose money, then," Jack said dismissively. "Listen, before we go any further with this..."

"Yeah?" That piqued Reed's interest and resumed something vaguely resembling brain activity. _It's not like he's a strict bottom or something. So, what? Is he trans? Is that somehow still a dealbreaker in 2039?_ He watched Jack's hesitant adjustment of his jacket. Just as he was foggily recalling the last time he'd been drilled through the mattress by a guy's generous strap game, and exactly how memorable that had been, Jack spoke.

"If you wanna head back into the bar instead of coming home with me, no hard feelings." He looked up and fixed Reed with that gorgeous black-eyed stare. "...but the truth is, Gavin, I'm an android."

And maybe Sober Reed would have recoiled with disgust, with anger, but Drunk Reed just gave him kind of a stupefied look. It didn't make any sense. There was no way he'd been making eyes at a machine. There was no way a machine had seduced him into a brand new Nissan, complete with sports package, for the express purpose of sucking him off and taking him home to wreck him.

Unless, of course, he'd been wrong this whole time about a lot of things. But --

"Really? But you, uh..." Reed swallowed, eyelids fluttering.

"Yeah, enthusiasm makes up for experience by, like, a lot. Listen, Gavin," Jack said, his hand finding Reed's arm, "I just found something I like to do and that I'm good at, so I'm doing it. You in or not?"

 _Why not?_ asked the traitor part of his brain that stifled a snicker at Connor's jokes in the break room, that glanced hungrily over the stern line of Richard's shoulders. _You already went this far tonight._

And the rest of it, the rational, reasonable part, responded with radio silence.

So he reached over his shoulder, fumbled for his seatbelt, and clicked it back into place.

"I've got all night," he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so that happened lmao
> 
> hey y'all i'm back! sorry for the delay! we suffered some hurricane damage and spent a pretty large portion of our savings, including the money i was planning to spend on a netbook. so far, i've been writing Mint Condition on my phone, which, as you can imagine, has been a total pain in the ass.
> 
> if you're enjoying yourself and you'd like to Save the Thumbs, please consider heading over to my [support](https://itsdefinitive.tumblr.com/post/179201182822/support) page to help me out! it would mean a lot.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the door unlocked and opened, Richard slipped in ahead of him.  He was lightning fast. Heart pounding, Reed followed him into the dimly lit room.  His eyes darted around as he looked for his partner, for the telltale blue glow at just about eye level.
> 
> But it was yellow.

_she said, man there's really something wrong with you_  
_one day you're gonna self destruct_  
_you're up, you're down, i can't work you out_  
_you get a good thing going then you blow yourself out_

(the kinks - destroyer)

 

 

Reed woke up the next morning to sunlight gently streaming over his bare chest. It was strange to be so warm, so comfortable, without the covers yanked up around his ears.

He definitely hadn't meant to spend the night. But, honestly, with as thoroughly drained as he felt, it was probably for the best that he hadn't gone anywhere. He held still and listened. Minimal morning traffic, wheels cutting at reasonable, unhurried speeds through the lingering sheen of last night's rainfall. Suburbs, probably. Classy ones. The house itself sounded empty, thank God. Reed struggled to sit up. His abs hurt, his back hurt, his arms were rubbery. He felt amazing. Dehydrated, but amazing. 

There was water on the nightstand.

There was _water_ on the _nightstand._ This guy was unbelievable. Reed downed it, grateful for the soothing coolness. His throat was raw, and as he'd settled back from getting the glass he groaned quietly at the deep-seated ache, the phantom stretch of Jack going to town on him for hours on end, that spiralled up his spine. Fuck, it felt amazing. He was going to feel that for days. 

He plunked the empty glass back on the marble coaster on the nightstand that matched the rest of the bedroom suite. 

Unreal.

There was a slip of paper folded into perfectly crisp quarters on the nightstand. A note? Reed reached out to pick it up. His wrist was chafed, streaked with linear bruises. Belt lines, he recognized. Unbidden, the vivid memory of his arms twisted together behind his back, wrapped in his own belt, Jack holding it for leverage as his hips relentlessly snapped, precise, punishing, making Reed desperately beg to allowed to come--

Reed scowled and shook his head to clear it. He unfolded the paper. In organic cursive, followed by a phone number with an out of town area code, it read: 

_Last night was fun. Call me when you're up for a rematch._

_\- Jack_  
_202-..._

A rematch. He felt overly warm at the very idea. Being the underdog had its perks.

He cautiously got out of the bed (wide, spacious) and headed into the bathroom (wide, spacious) on unsteady legs. There was no way he could put his clothes back on without at least rinsing off first. He felt like he'd lost a gallon of sweat.

The bathroom seemed really unnecessarily decadent when he recalled for the fortieth time since waking up that Jack was an android. The entire back third of the room was tiled floor to ceiling with granite slabs the same gold-flecked black as Jack's eyes, and was an open-shower arrangement with no curtain of any kind. Off to one side was a tub, a cast iron claw-footed monstrosity, more than big enough for two men. The only place Reed had ever seen a bathroom this fancy was the occasional upscale crime scene and _maybe_ the penthouse suite of the sugar daddy he'd had his sophomore year of college.

He washed quickly with a bar of unscented castile soap and dried off on a neatly folded towel that was waiting on the edge of the sink. His clothes had been neatly piled on a plush chair in the bedroom. He sifted through them for his phone and found the expected missed text from Tina.

_gavin wyd_

Reed checked the timestamp. At five in the morning? He rolled his eyes tolerantly. He'd been getting exactly what he wanted at five in the morning. Hadn't she been doing the same thing? This was why he kept his ringer off like any other self-respecting gay.

_Sorry, I was busy_ he sent back. His phone immediately lit up with a reply.

_do u need a ride_  
_i want breakfast_

There was no way she was picking him up and taking him on a modified walk of shame. He dialed a cab and then replied with _I'll meet you for coffee_ so he could scramble into his clothes and hopefully beat her there.

He stuck the note in his jacket pocket and stepped out to meet the automated cab. Thank God for geolocation. He'd never even been to this neighborhood, just through it, but he happened to know it was the sort of place senators resided between elections. How mysterious _was_ this asshole? 

Reed had just assumed he was an apartment. No, it was a _property,_ freestanding, with a sprawling yard and tasteful landscaping. Like, magazine tasteful. Every yard was trimmed to within the same five millimeter range. The property taxes had to be outrageous. 

He slid into the car and keyed it for his usual coffeeshop. Traffic was fairly clear; he'd missed the morning rush and wouldn't even arrive until just shy of ten. Tina would absolutely get there after him.

When he arrived, Tina was waiting for him at the handoff plane with two drinks and a bag of pastries in hand.

"Took you long enough," she called over the din. "Where were you?"

"Sleeping," he lied.

"Yeah, you look like you got like a week's worth of sleep. How you feeling, tiger?" She had that obnoxious knowing grin she got every time he scored big.

"Like I drank just enough to find myself a good time."

"Was it gym guy? I saw gym guy there."

"No, it wasn't _gym guy,_ I've never even spoken to him before."

"Like that's ever stopped you."

Reed hummed his agreement.

"I hope you got your mystery guy's number."

"And name, and address, and an invitation back." And his license plate number, which Reed was absolutely running later because fuck propriety.

"You're bragging. About someone that's not you. He must have been _good._ "

"How was Jocelyn?"

"Gavin, you look like someone throttled you."

"That," he said with a smug smile, "is _exactly_ what happened."

Tina took a long, long sip of her latte.

"I know you're, like, a big boy, or whatever," she said, giving him her best bored cop tone, "and I know it's not my job to parent you, but."

And even though he knew she was trying to provoke him, he still felt his hackles rise. "Okay, before you piss me off, there's nothing on this entire planet that's safe, okay? I could clock in tomorrow and get shot. I could call out tomorrow and die of carbon monoxide poisoning in my sleep. Crossing the street is dangerous, too."

"You didn't even look both ways before you sprinted, in this situation," she snapped icily.

"Tina, I don't do the whole nine fucking yards with every stiff dick that leaks in my direction."

"Since when?"

"Since you know exactly when, thanks for bringing _that_ up."

"Ugh, Gavin, you know I didn't mean it like that."

"You did. You just don't like that it pissed me off."

" _Please_ get some calories in you."

He silently set into the sandwich she'd bought him. In all honesty, he wasn't even that angry. Not at Tina. Hardly even at himself, which was progress. Gold star.

Tina went back up to the counter and took forever getting her refill. The shift looked like it was down by a person. Reed wondered if it was Naomi. If things had gone differently, would she be here helping the transition to the mid shift, then going home to Lew? His depressing train of thought was cut short by Tina's return.

"Let's stay in tonight. I don't want to go anywhere with you when you get like this. I hate feeling like I have to check over my shoulder and make sure you're still there."

"Cool. Thin ice, Tina."

She shrugged. "You did get his number, though? That's not like you."

"I didn't ask for it. He left me a note."

"Shit! Let me see."

"Absolutely not," he cringed.

"Is it gross? It's gross, isn't it."

"Maybe I just don't want you to see." He stood and headed for the door. Tina outright laughed at him.

"You're limping like a fucking war vet!"

"Listen," he started, annoyed, but Tina was too busy losing her mind to pay him any mind. She tossed him his keys.

"Maybe you're doing all right after all," she said between giggles.

\---

They lounged around Reed's apartment for most of the day. Per Tina's insistence, they didn't plan on going out that night. Reed wasn't sure he was up for it anyway. Not after the previous night, and not with work in the morning.

Tina insisted she be allowed to put food out for the cat. Reed had moved to his current apartment three years ago and that orange asshole had never once let her pet him. Her opinion on that fact regularly oscillated between funny and sad. Today it was funny, which was great, because Reed was ready for a break from hearing about Jordan.

"He hates me," she laughed, crouched down where the cat was intently disregarding her beneath Reed's car. "It's like meeting you all over again."

"I was never that bad."

"That's right. You were worse.

"Thanks," he said, and fished his phone out of his pocket. With eerily coincidental timing, it went off in his hand. The lock screen flashed silently with an unfamiliar number. Area code 202. DC, he realized. Reed fished the note from Jack out of his pocket for comparison, but the numbers didn't match up. He stared dumbly at the screen until it went to voicemail.

"Telemarketer?"

"No idea," he said, waiting with itching fingers for the voicemail to finish recording. He doubted it was spam. "Let's find out."

The audio quality was the clearest he'd ever heard in a voicemail, and he very quickly deduced why.

"Detective Reed," Richard said clearly over the line. "I apologize for interrupting your time off, but I didn't think it was appropriate to delay the news. There's been another murder that appears to follow the same pattern of the two earlier this week. Captain Fowler sent me to the scene this afternoon. I have emailed you with my findings. If you review them, please let me know if you have any questions. Otherwise, I will be available at the precinct at oh-eight-hundred tomorrow."

Reed swiped out of the voicemail app and the notification for the promised email attachment that promptly appeared. "That prick," he muttered.

"Guess that was Slick Rick."

"Damn, Tina, you should be a detective." He dicked with his phone. Recent calls. Edit contacts. Create new contact. In the 'name' field, he typed _CONNOR 2: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO_ and hit save.

"Is he really all that bad?"

"He's worse."

"I dunno, man. You say that about Connor and he's a total sweetheart."

"Connor is a stone cold killer," Reed said, deadly serious.

"He's sweet. He just rubs you the wrong way because you're an asshole and he's unsocialized."

"No, _Richard_ is unsocialized. I mean, he'd kill a guy in a second too, but--"

"Gavin, please get a hold of yourself."

"Have you gotten punched by either one of them? No? Then fuck off."

"Oh, are you and Richard on punching terms already? You're falling for him pretty fast."

"I swear to god, Tina..."

"Don't you dare check your email," she warned. "We're off today. Don't you do it."

He sighed and tucked his phone away so they could spend the rest of the evening polishing off the wine Tina had brought. She even gave him back the pack of cigarettes she'd filched from his jacket. It wouldn't have mattered -- he'd stored the rest of the carton in the depths of his coat closet -- but he appreciated the gesture.

\--- 

The next morning, after he'd driven Tina to go get her car and driven himself to get some breakfast, Reed made it a point to arrive at the precinct at seven thirty. He knew in his heart that Richard would already be there, but he needed some time to truly wake up before dealing with anyone. He headed straight for the evidence room.

Connor was waiting in the small back hallway that led to the door.

_Fuck._ Reed stopped in his tracks, fight or flight, caught between proceeding as planned or backing out before Connor knew he was there. Of course, it was too late. Even before he'd deviated Connor had been designed for police work. His awareness of his surroundings wasn't limited by his eyes and ears -- it extended to things like heat signatures, vibrations in the floors and walls, emission of electromagnetic fields generated by the body, and even the presence of devices like tablets and cell phones. If Connor cared to keep tabs on that kind of thing, he could have known Reed was in close proximity before he'd even crossed the lobby.

_But I'm not supposed to be paranoid._

_Sure._

Connor turned as if genuinely startled. It made Reed's skin crawl. Made it itch. He cleared his throat.

"Don't worry," Connor said. "I'm going to leave."

No. No, that sat all wrong. It felt -- sideways, somehow. _Get a fucking move on,_ he thought, but it was like he was frozen to the spot, tongue leaden in his mouth. Connor moved to pass him. Instinctively, shamefully, he backed away. Just half a step, but a visible give of ground nonetheless.

Connor stopped. He looked... concerned. Reed could feel his heart going drum solo crazy in his chest. It thudded in the back of his throat, nauseating, like it was trying to escape.

It had the right idea.

"Gavin?"

"What," he tersely snapped.

"Are you okay?"

He was sincere. His empathetic brown eyes were lit with concern for someone who had tried to kill him. It made Reed want to puke. He gritted his teeth to fight back a mounting wave of sick.

_Fucking androids._

"I'm fine," he lied. His voice wavered. "Fuck off."

"You're not acting fine."

"You don't know me, _Connor,_ " he spat. Anger. Anger was good. Adrenaline was good. It was bracing. Maybe it would be clearing. As long as he didn't go too far. _Just make him leave and it'll be fine. It'll be okay._

But Connor wasn't backing down. "No, you're right, I don't. But I can still tell something's going on with you."

"Listen up, asshole, _don't_ psychoanalyze me." Reed folded his arms tightly over his chest. He desperately wanted a cigarette.

"I'm not. It's very obvious that you're experiencing something out of the ordinary, and--"

"Are you just choosing to not hear the words coming out of my mouth?"

"Yes," Connor said decisively. Reed almost had to admire the chutzpah. An easy half-mile's jog worth of sweat blossomed between his shoulders. His shirt clung unpleasantly to his spine. "You need help--"

"Detective Reed," Richard's voice rang clearly down the hall, its half-degree deeper timbre overriding Connor mid-sentence. Connor stopped cold, LED startling over to yellow. Caution. Police line, do not cross. Reed didn't know why he didn't just get rid of the damn thing. "I have those case files for your review."

_Case files? What fucking case files?_ He took a breath. It hitched. Connor did not react. He just kept watching Richard's approach. Reed did too, feeling cornered by the two-pack of RealDoll shitbags.

And then something _happened._ He didn't know what. It was like all the air came rushing back into the room. Like something realigned itself. Connor's temple quit flashing that grating yellow and he slid past Reed, past Richard, companionably touching his sports package clone on the shoulder.

It set him on edge all over again. His pulse quickened. The edges of his vision went dark. _Hyperfocus_ , he knew, but knowing it didn't stop it. With trembling fingers he slowly, carefully reached for his gun. Just to make sure it was there. That this was happening.

"Come on," Richard said the moment Connor was out of conversational range. It was not a request. "Evidence room."

Reed didn't move. Richard neutrally waited. When Reed didn't budge, something strange happened in Richard's piercing eyes. He reached for Reed's arm.

"Don't touch me," Reed said quietly.

Richard's hand immediately fell back to his side. "I won't," he agreed. It made Reed's gut twist. Why? Why couldn't he have pushed back until Reed could justify lashing out? "But you're still coming with me."

That assertion inexplicably unglued Reed's boots from the floor and sent them down the hallway without checking in with his brain first. His hand found the knob and automatically pushed the door open.

He hesitated at the top of the steps. _Long way down,_ something warned him.

But he wasn't about to show weakness in front of Richard if he could help it.

So, down he went.

He couldn't hear Richard behind him, couldn't feel his footsteps, couldn't get a read on his motivations. It was maddening. He quickened his pace and failed twice at entering his password, fingers overshooting the keys in his haste.

As the door unlocked and opened, Richard slipped in ahead of him. He was lightning fast. Heart pounding, Reed followed him into the dimly lit room. His eyes darted around as he looked for his partner, for the telltale blue glow at just about eye level.

But it was yellow.

"Detective," Richard began, voice low and calm. Reed put a table between them. Waist height, stainless steel, bolted to the floor. His hand clenched on the ledge of it. Richard watched him, face neutral, hands slack by his sides. He waited for Reed to still. "Do you have a history of panic episodes?"

"I'm not having a fucking _panic episode,_ " Reed snapped. "Jesus Christ."

"Arguing on the subject will get us nowhere. You're displaying the classic symptoms of a panic attack. Rapid heartbeat, sweating, trembling, fear inappropriate to the situation."

"Richard, I'm gonna need you to fuck _right_ off."

"If you'll just acknowledge what's happening you will be one step closer to resuming your day. I know what I'm talking about, Reed."

Richard's voice was soothing. Reed absolutely hated it. "Oh, did you download a fucking crisis counselor app?"

"I was built to lead soldiers. Helping them cope is part of my core programming."

"Very empathetic."

"Fine, we can always try another route."

"Who's this 'we?'"

Richard placed his palms flat on the table between them and leaned forward. "You need to get your shit together."

Reed recoiled. "And who the fuck are _you?_ "

"If you're not going to go home and call a mental health professional, I'm the person that's going to get you through this." Richard straightened up. "You can accept that or you can leave. It's up to you."

Reed's breath caught in his throat. He couldn't _leave,_ he knew he had to look like absolute shit. Half the reason he'd gone toward the evidence room in the first place was the lack of cameras. His shirt was stuck to the center of his chest. He yanked his jacket off, struggling momentarily in the sleeves, and tossed it onto the table. It was abruptly chilly. He paced the length of the table, arms protectively folded.

There was a pause. Richard sat down. He leaned his elbows on the steel tabletop.

"Gun on the table," he said, steadily looking Reed in the eye.

Reed hesitated. His fingers twitched. The request was more than fair, more than understandable, but he still struggled with it. "Safety's on," he grunted dismissively.

"If you need me to come take it, I can do that. It's no trouble."

_What the fuck was that,_ he wondered. _Was that a threat?_ It couldn't be, with as calm as Richard's face was, mouth a soft, half-open pink splotch, body language personable

_not a person. threat threat threat--_

Reed tore the holster's snap open and seized the gun.

Richard did not flinch.

Slowly, bile rising in his mouth, Reed placed the gun on the table between them. He thought his hand was steady, but it clattered loudly on the steel. 

Richard looked completely unbothered.

"How's your breathing?"

"Shitty." He ran his hand over his face. God, he was pouring sweat. He could feel the heat in his face and neck, burning the tips of his ears, drying him out to crackle and fall in on himself like properly seasoned hickory. The inside of his mouth ached for water.

"It's temporary," Richard reassured him. The reflection of the lights off the metal table cast a gentle glow over his face. It softened his features. Made him seem almost approachable even if it didn't do anything for the indefinable color of his eyes. _Tapetum lucidum,_ he thought out of nowhere. Yeah, that was it. The thing that let animals see in the dark. _Carnivores. Mostly carnivores._

_I feel reassured already._

"Everything's temporary, asshole."

Richard's voice was grounding. Easy to focus on. Reed did. "Breathe in for four seconds. What happened?"

"Nothing happened," he lied.

"Breathe out for four seconds. We don't have to talk about it," Richard assured him.

"Yeah, no shit, what happened is none of your business."

"So, nothing happened, but something happened?" Reed looked up at him sharply. Richard's mouth had a subtle curve at one corner. Was he -- _teasing_ him?

"Fuck off," Reed said tiredly, entirely out of venom. His heart was still too fast, but it had slowed to a jog instead of a flat-out sprint.

"I'm about eighty-five percent certain you're suffering from untreated post-traumatic stress."

"Oh," choked Reed, trying on a smirk. It fell woefully flat. "Just eighty-five percent?"

"Eighty-six point five. Humans tend to think of accuracy as pedantic."

"You could just say you're 'pretty sure.'"

"I rest my case."

Because it was barely eight in the morning and he was exhausted, but mainly because Richard hadn't prompted him to, Reed slowly sank down in the chair opposite and buried his face in his hands. He was distantly aware that he was trembling. Richard blessedly just let him sit in silence for an indeterminate amount of time.

When he finally spoke, his voice was gentle. Empathetic. "Is this typical for you?"

"Nothing's typical," Reed groaned into his hands.

"It sounds like you've been overstressed for quite some time."

"I've already got a therapist, so you can go ahead and put your resume back in your briefcase, all right?" He rubbed at his eyes, willing focus back into them.

"I know my opinion isn't welcome --"

"Well, shoot, Mega Man."

"--I think you should take the day off, Detective. You have plenty of sick leave saved up."

"How the fuck do you know that?"

"Lucky guess," he said pedantically.

"I'm already here," Reed said, staggering to his feet, "you're stuck with me." 

He got halfway to the wall bay displaying the meager scraps of evidence they'd gleaned from the Saunders' now-torched apartment before his knees buckled. His memory slipped, somehow, like a faulty DVD. The next thing he knew Richard's hands were on him, clinician careful, helping him sit back down. "The fuck," he slurred.

"Ninety two point two percent," said Richard, mostly to himself. "Detective, are you injured?"

Reed's hand shot to his own throat, covering it. "Mind your business."

Once he was assured Reed could sit without falling out of his chair, Richard withdrew cautiously and perched on the edge of the table. He patiently waited to have Reed's attention to speak. "I need you to understand that this is my business. It affects you. You are my partner. Therefore, it affects me."

"You need a hobby. An extracurricular."

"I have hobbies, Detective."

There was a long pause that Richard did not seem at all uncomfortable with. Did anything make him uncomfortable? _He can sure as hell get mad,_ Reed thought. _And annoyed. And fed up._

_Bet he won't look so superior when someone breaks that perfect fucking nose._

The idea of getting to be the one to do it sparked a thrill deep in his stomach.

"You're quiet," Richard said after a moment. "That's not like you."

Reed's lip curled in what might have grown into a proper sneer if he hadn't felt like he'd just gone ten rounds with the champ. "I'm just here to go to work, man," he said, hoping he didn't sound as fragile as he felt.

Richard seemed to accept that. "We can discuss the new development."

"Sweeley's place burn to the ground yet?"

"No. We had a detail on the premises the first two days. Captain Fowler has allotted three more days of extra attention, at which point the teams running patrols will keep an eye on the situation."

"Great," he said tiredly. "These guys seem to like their patterns. We gotta try to compare time of death and time of discovery on Lew Saunders to when his apartment was torched and try to use that as a projection for Elle's place."

"Elle?"

"Laura. Sweeley. Everyone called her Elle."

Richard was quiet. Contemplative. He looked up at one of the recessed lights. "Lew Saunders' prison sentence," he said. He held up one of his hands. A rectangle flickered to life in the air above it. On it was Lew Saunders, looking ten years younger and twenty pounds heavier, and definitely a lot less dead. "He was found guilty of felony trespassing in 2035. Lieutenant Anderson was the arresting officer. Lew Saunders and nine other adult male citizens interfered with the police line guarding an anti-android demonstration. Lieutenant Anderson was not part of the line. He testified that he stepped in when he was told by a fellow officer, Thomas Dobson, that the police guard had been attacked by chemical weapons."

"Pepper spray?"

"An aerosol bear deterrent."

Bear mace. Reed had been on the receiving end twice in his career and preferred not to repeat the experience. "Was it true?"

"Lieutenant Anderson said he didn't verify. He didn't want to second-guess Dobson's professional opinion."

"He just rounded everyone up and arrested them?"

"Yes. In his testimony, he said that none of the defendants resisted arrest except for Saunders, who served fourteen months out of the two years he was sentenced."

"So, what, he maced a group of officers and only got a trespassing charge? Not bad."

"The defendant was never charged with assault," said Richard. "None of them were."

"What are you saying, here?"

"You seemed disapproving of police violence when it came up the other day."

"Protest is a civic fucking duty. Getting in the way of a person's rights is exactly what the police are supposed to _prevent._ "

"Depending on the definition of 'a person,' of course."

"I don't have the energy for this right now, shitbag."

"My sincerest apologies." Reed had no idea how a fucking machine could sound so sarcastic.

"What the hell does what I think of Saunders' prior have to do with anything?"

"I compromised when I looked for a pattern in the two cases. Now that there are three cases, I can see that your instinct was correct."

"So?"

"I trusted you. Against my natural instinct."

"Against your programming."

"Against my protocols. I don't have 'programming.'"

"Get to the point."

"I stepped outside my comfort zone and we progressed the case. I'd like to return the favor, but I need to know something first."

"Are you not gonna tell me what you figured out if you don't like my answer?"

"That's right."

This time when Reed tried to stand he found his legs capable of taking his weight. "You better talk fast."

"It's very simple," Richard assured him. He stood as well, rounding the first corner of the table. "Humans are dying and androids are disappearing. We don't know what's happening to them. I'm not optimistic. You're accustomed to human death, Detective. Not only is it a fact of organic life, but you have enough exposure to it in this line of work that you've been largely desensitized to it."

_Great,_ Reed thought, annoyed. _Two therapists._

"The android population is limited in size. What affects one of us naturally affects all of us. Losing one person is losing an entire universe." Richard's face was open, sincere -- a lot like Connor's, in that moment. "Is that idea something you can understand?"

It was more familiar than that fucking android could have known. "I'm not an idiot, Richard."

"Answer the question, please."

"Trust me. I can understand it pretty well." He uncomfortably shifted. 

"I can't trust you with this unless you promise to put in the work to _do something_ about it."

Reed stared at him in disbelief. Richard's LED was solidly yellow. _He needs to work on that._ "You're asking me if you can trust me to do my job."

"This can't just be about the human murders." Richard looked up at him, pinning him with his eyes. Reed unwillingly stilled. "If we're going to work this case together, you need to treat the loss of an android the same as the loss of a human."

Reed just mulishly glared at him.

"That means developing an understanding that you and I are equals," Richard prompted.

"You really think I'm just not gonna do my job because I'm pissed off that my taxes paid for you to get express delivered to my door and pull my promotion out from under me."

"Well, I'm capable of emulating human decency. You, on the other hand..."

"You're baiting me," Reed said. "Ain't gonna work." Maybe it would have, if he hadn't felt so goddamn tired. It felt like a surgical team had jumped him and replaced his bone marrow with lead.

"Do you agree or not, Detective?"

"Of course I fucking _agree._ I took an oath, didn't I?"

"To uphold the law."

Reed folded his arms.

"Four months ago the law was to detain deviant androids so they could be sent back to CyberLife and disassembled for testing."

"Yep."

Richard looked -- it was indefinable how Richard looked. There was a darkly serious cast to his face, more pronounced than Reed had seen it yet. Anger. Disappointment. Fear...?

"Killed," Richard said sharply. The gravity in his voice was terrible. " _People_ like me were _killed._ "

"I didn't do that, okay," Reed snapped. "I didn't make that happen."

"You didn't do anything to stop it, either. And maybe you didn't know any better. Maybe you were taught incorrectly. Like Connor. Maybe your programming was wrong."

_Like Connor?_

"My _programming_ \--"

Richard held up a hand to stop him. "Whatever you want to call it," he allowed. "Your values were provided by someone who was ignorant. You can correct that. But you have to _want to,_ Detective."

Reed looked up at him. Richard turned his face away. All Reed could see were the strong, proud lines of his profile -- his unbroken nose, his cheekbones, his dark eyelashes, the unhappy press of his mouth into a straight line, a shock of color on his pale skin. Left side. No LED. He looked like any other man.

He looked hurt.

Reed pulled his jacket across the table so he could finally, finally have that cigarette. He struck the match and inhaled deeply before giving the match a single firm swipe through the air to kill the flame. Grey smoke spilled from the head. Richard dragged himself upright, spine straightening. Not all the way. Just enough for his lean against the table to be more comfortable. _He doesn't need to do that,_ Reed thought. _He can't feel uncomfortable._

_But..._

"You smoke like a fucking chimney," Richard murmured, rubbing his hand over his face. "It's exhausting."

"The rest of us can't just turn off whatever subroutines we don't want to deal with."

"You could sign up for the department's tobacco cessation program."

"And you could mind your business." Reed blew smoke toward the ceiling. "Can we get to the fucking case, please."

Richard sighed. "Laura Sweeley."

"What about her."

"You went to high school with her."

"Yeah."

"Did anything about her strike you as being similar to Lew Saunders?"

"Well, I don't know Lew Saunders, so..."

"From what I've told you," Richard said patiently, "and from what you have observed of the Saunders family, what similarities do they have?"

"They got freakshow murdered, obviously. They were both shacked up with androids." For some reason, the way his phrasing made Richard's forehead wrinkle brought him no pleasure. "Uh, both of their initials are the same, thought that was weird. I saw Lew's high school graduation photo in the hallway, so I know he didn't drop out. They were both with female androids, maybe that's something. They both went to jail."

"Laura didn't go to jail. She paid a fine to the state and was put on probation for three years."

"I get the feeling you already know what the fuck's going on here. Just give me the spoilers."

"I don't know that I'm right. I don't want to bias your thought process."

"I still need the facts."

"Laura -- Elle. She broke into a warehouse. A few of the charges they tried to levy against her, apart from breaking and entering, were intent to distribute."

"Guarantee you she had priors for that."

"No. None. This was her first arrest, although she had previously been fined for smoking marijuana."

"Just say weed, you fucking nerd. People don't generally keep _weed_ in warehouses. What was she supposedly distributing?"

Richard leaned in. He was practically vibrating. "Thirium 310."

"What? Elle was a lazy pothead. Red ice isn't her style."

"Her fingerprints were on several crates of thirium."

"Was it a CyberLife warehouse or a chop shop?"

"The distributor for an authorized repair center."

"She broke in and tried to take thirium. Allegedly. The charges didn't stick." Reed flicked ash onto the floor. "They didn't try to charge her with theft?"

"No. Why would someone want thirium if they weren't using it to process red ice?"

"Black market sales," Reed said automatically. "Or... she was a sympathizer. She was taking it so someone else could have it. Someone who needed it."

"That's it. You said she was lazy, but your descriptions of her say otherwise. She was just someone who was slighted by society."

"You're saying she was helping people because no one would give her a fair shake? That's a hell of a leap."

"Do you want me to think dynamically or not, Detective?"

Frustrated, Reed ran his fingers through his hair. He was acutely aware of Richard's eyes following the motion. "It doesn't matter if I believe you or not if you can't prove it."

"But you do believe me."

"A judge isn't gonna care that you minored in psychology, Rich."

"A judge doesn't have to know how we figured out the connection, just that we can prove what happened."

Realization dawned. Slowly. Reed felt like an idiot. "There was a third case."

"A former CyberLife employee, Ashley Carnegie. The autopsy is scheduled for this evening."

"Small arms fire, close range, headshot."

"Yes."

"And the romantic interest?"

"Missing. We can talk about it on the way to the scene."

\---

Reed started to feel more stable as soon as he was behind the wheel. _You have major control issues,_ Eliza's voice echoed in his head. He made a face.

Ashley Carnegie, female, twenty-nine years old, had been collecting unemployment since CyberLife initiated mass layoffs in December. She was a freelance artist on the side. It must have paid decently, because her apartment was huge. Reed's rent took a noticeable chunk out of his checking every month and he was on a state employee salary, so how was Ashley making ends meet?

_CyberLife must have taken pretty good care of her,_ he surmised. _For all the good that does now._

Richard led him to the apartment door and fished out a set of keys. "Let me show you something," he said, and held out his empty hand.

Reed regarded his hand with some trepidation.

"You're not going to break out in software errors," Richard said.

"Fuck off," Reed said, but he did offer his hand. Richard took him by the wrist and pressed his palm flat against the door. It was disgustingly sticky, like a fast food restaurant's chronically unmopped floor. His hand came away tacky with a clear residue that was somehow both sticky and flaky. "What the fuck is this?"

"Thirium," Richard said. "For me, this appears to be blue. To you it should be nearly invisible."

"It feels like fucking half-congealed blood."

"In essence, that's what it is. What's left behind is the plasma. The nitrogen in the atmosphere breaks down the compound and the pigment evaporates."

"Will you open the damn door? I gotta get this shit off my hands. It's skeeving me out."

He pressed through the door as soon as there was enough clearance and headed for the kitchen to wash his hands. The top-floor apartment was nowhere near as nice as Jack's house, _do not compare things to your one-night-stand's house this is a slippery slope,_ but it was still incredibly spacious and tastefully decorated. A small area around the kitchen table was cordoned off with holotape. It was definitely where the body had been discovered.

Reed stood at the sink with his sleeves pushed up his wrists, absently scrubbing at his hands as he thought. There was something there he wasn't seeing. Something that would help explain the motivation.

He stared out over the impressive view. Three still wasn't a number that much of a pattern could be extracted from, but he considered it anyway. Seemingly random places of residence, occupations, types of people...

"Detective," Richard said right in his ear in a tone that suggested he had said it several times already.

"Jesus, _what,_ " Reed snapped.

"You've been standing with your hands under the water for four minutes."

"I was thinking." He shoved the handle on the faucet back down.

"Do tell."

Unable to gauge whether or not that was sarcasm, Reed frowned and shook the majority of the water off his hands. "Was Ashley ever arrested?"

Richard handed him a towel. "Yes. She is currently a co-defendant in a mass arrest case."

"Got any more details than that?"

"Civil disobedience. Protesting without a permit. Failure to obey a police order. Violation of curfew imposed by the City of Detroit. On December twenty-second she and approximately nine dozen others were protesting outside Detroit City Hall despite being denied a permit to do so. Police attempted to peacefully disband the gathering. When the protesters made clear they would not leave voluntarily..."

"People started getting arrested. Yeah. I was there." Not as an arresting officer. The city's emergency curfew had barely applied to him as a police officer, but even if it had, he was on his way home from seeing Eliza. It was another fucking protest over androids -- the entire reason for the curfew in the first place, which was why the permit had been denied.

He'd stood by in case there was a call for backup, gleefully watching truckload after truckload of those shameless botfuckers get carted downtown, grateful that the risk of getting automated out of his job seemed to be at an all time low.

In the present he stared at his android police detective trainee, wondering about the connection. Wondering why he of all people was supposed to be the one to figure this shit out.

"Did you notice all the bodies were facing the window?"

"I didn't," Richard admitted. "Is that significant?"

"Maybe. I don't know." Reed tiredly rubbed at his temples. "Everything can have significance if you stare at it for too long."

"I'll take your word for it." Richard looked over at the empty chair. "Ashley just became engaged to her boyfriend, Taylor, an SQ800 model."

"An android soldier," Reed said. "Wondered where they'd all gotten to."

"Keep wondering," Richard advised. "When Ashley was last seen two weeks ago, Taylor was with her."

"We're gonna have to check the missing persons database. See if there's anything to go on."

"That's a good idea in theory, but in practice, the database is currently in no state to help us."

"Fuck does that mean?"

"Between all the people reported missing because they evacuated and didn't return, there are over thirty thousand reports opened in the last four months."

"So it's a needle in a haystack situation."

"That's an optimistic view of it. Even if the database were searchable -- and right now the backlog is so significant it may as well be offline -- what criteria would you even search for?"

"Missing persons with criminal records containing entries after 2022. That's when Chloe passed the Turing test. That's gotta be the earliest landmark for deviancy."

"You've done your homework."

"Or entries of people known to have had relationships with androids."

"Very open-minded, Detective. I'll put you down as a cosponsor for the human-android civil union bill."

Reed gave him the finger. They both contemplated the empty kitchen chair.

"I'm too fucking tired to putz around this shithole," Reed said after a moment, waving a hand to indicate the glamorous apartment at large.

"Knowing your limits is important." Richard didn't _seem_ to be mocking him, but just to be safe, Reed's blood pressure went up. "Lunch?"

"You don't eat." Reed immediately second-guessed himself. "Do you?"

"No, but I'd benefit from a break."

"Did you put in a request for a patrol to keep this place from getting arsoned?" He hated how reliant he already was on that son of a bitch. Was it more or less than he would be relying on a human partner? Reed didn't know. He felt paranoid, more disadvantaged every successive step, rather than aided by the best tech money could make sentient.

"As soon as I was finished the preliminary investigation. After our break we should contact CyberLife and see what we can find about Ashley's dismissal."

"Shit, I didn't know they were even still around."

"They never dissolved. It was a surprise move, but given the company has maintained a close guard on android-related patents, they stand to turn a major profit."

"Even though, you know, the whole _stop the deviants_ thing...?"

"That wasn't under the direction of the current CEO. "

"Oh," Reed said dryly. "Well, that absolutely sounds trustworthy. Who's their new PR fodder?"

"Elijah Kamski," Richard said.

Reed's blood froze in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> richard: hey what if you were fuckin uhhhh normal  
> gavin: nO
> 
> hey y'all i'm back. pls enjoy this longer chapter!
> 
> if you'd like to throw some support my way, [this link](https://itsdefinitive.tumblr.com/post/179201182822/support) is the one to follow ♥️


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If we leave now, we'll arrive twenty minutes early."
> 
> "That a problem?"
> 
> "You look," Richard said emphatically, "like shit."

_and we say that the world isn't dying_  
_and we pray that the world isn't dying_  
_and just maybe the world isn't dying_  
_maybe she's heavy with child_

(jason webley - last song)

  


  


The one thing Reed knew was that there was no way he could go look at Elijah Kamski's smug fucking face right then.

"I have the address," Richard offered. "I placed a phone call to his residence already, but there was no answer. I left a message."

"Give him some time to return it," Reed advised. Shitbag family member he had successfully avoided for more than a decade aside, they weren't going to get anything out of a lawyered-up billionaire by stalking him.

"How much time is advisable?"

"However much time it takes me to not feel like I'm gonna puke every time we hit a red light."

"Detective, if you're feeling that poorly, we can call it a day."

"Please don't make me feel any more pathetic than I already do."

Richard frowned out the window, visibly holding back a retort. Reed kept his eyes on the road and blindly patted for his cigarettes. Richard's disapproval when he finally wrestled one out and stuck it between his lips was downright palpable.

Reed rolled the window down. "Keep your shirt on," he muttered.

"I didn't say anything, Detective."

"God, if only you could keep it that way."

Richard sighed. It was a strange gesture from someone Reed knew for a fact didn't have to breathe. "I see you're feeling better."

He finally lit the damn thing. Maybe Tina was right about the vaping. Or maybe he should have waited to roll the window down until after he'd lit up instead of struggling like a dumbass. The sharp, mellow burn in his lungs grounded him, but tenuously. "It's not like I was sick."

Richard looked at him like he had two heads. "Yes, it is."

"What's that supposed to mean," he challenged, cutting his eyes to stare at Richard.

Richard stared back. After a moment, he sighed. "The road, Detective."

Reed snapped his eyes back to the street, immediately ready to adjust the car. They were fine, centered in the lane, no obstacles in sight. He swore he could see that mother fucker smirking.

_You would have known the road was clear if you could sense things the way he could._

Not that shit again. Reed tried to reject the paranoid thought. Difficult when there was objective truth in it. He inhaled deeply from the cigarette and exhaled the smoke sharply through his nose. Richard drew back, temple momentarily strobing caution-yellow. So he _could_ be startled. Interesting. "I wasn't sick," he reiterated, annoyed.

"What do you think mental illness is, Detective?"

"I'm not _mentally ill,_ fuck you," Reed scoffed.

"Untreated post-traumatic stress --"

"You're not a fucking doctor, prick--"

"-- and, honestly, a high probability of moderate depression. Do you prefer the term mental disorder? They're the same thing, but if you find a different point of reference more comfortable..."

"I'd _prefer_ you get out of my fucking business. Don't psychoanalyze me. I'm not a fucking suspect."

Richard frowned. Thoughtful, not angry. "I see. This is about your pride."

"Excuse me?"

"I understand that humans often mask the things affecting them for the sake of social propriety. Detective, I didn't come up in society the way you did. I don't have any prejudices against neurodivergency."

"Do you have any prejudices against _shutting up?_ "

"Hang on," Richard said brusquely. "I'm getting a phone call."

"You better not answer that if it's Kamski."

The look Richard gave him could have made the semifinals against his grandmother for Filthiest Unspoken 'Be Quiet' During A Phone Call. "Hello? Speaking." There was a pause, during which Richard flatly ignored Reed frantically slicing his hand back and forth in the air over his own throat -- _cut the call, cut the call_ \-- and instead idly drummed his long fingers on the center console. "Yes, ma'am, though I'll need to check our itinerary. Could you hold, please?"

"Are you fucking serious."

"I don't understand. This call is important."

"You're worse than Connor!"

"Given your opinion of Connor, I'll take that as a compliment."

Reed silently seethed, opting to pull deeply at the tail end of his cigarette.

"Dr. Kamski will be out of town for the next three weeks as a guest lecturer. He leaves tomorrow morning. He was more than happy to accommodate us if we can come by this afternoon. He's a very elusive person, Detective, we may not get another chance."

"We'd get another chance with a warrant," Reed muttered.

"That's so unnecessary," Richard sighed. "I'll tell her 2:00."

"The hell you will. That's an hour drive on a good day."

"Yes ma'am, thank you for holding. Two will be fine. We appreciate you taking the time to fit us in your schedule."

"You're starting to piss me off, Iron Man."

"I don't really care. I'm just doing my job." It sounded accusatory.

"Fuck you." Reed could feel his heart pick up the pace. It was none of that fucker's business why he didn't want to talk to someone. _I need to take a week off,_ he decided. _Maybe two. I'd jump off a fucking high rise if it meant not dealing with this son of a bitch._

He turned the car northeast toward I-375, silently fuming. A fucking hour and a half drive in this traffic, and for what? Elijah wasn't going to be able to tell them anything. That useless piece of shit could barely remember they were related. Reed himself had successfully forgotten until about twenty minutes ago.

What the hell could Elijah want in return for anything he possibly had to offer? Reed asked himself that repeatedly under the penetrating din of traffic and classic rock through the exit to 75. Elijah Kamski was the richest man in the world. Literally, he was the man who had everything. Fame, reputation, mystique. Good looks, although he was hot in a weird way, the sort of guy that would get behind you in line at the grocery store and strike up "casual" conversation about the all-vegan hot yoga class he led. A surprising lack of scandal. Elijah had always known when to keep his mouth shut. _God only ever descends to give directives,_ Reed thought bitterly. _And usually you have to go to him._

Richard broke his stillness and turned the music down.

"The hell's wrong with you? Don't touch a man's radio."

Richard stared at him momentarily, silent in a way that Reed was coming to recognize as the pause he needed to determine whether or not someone was joking. "Elijah Kamski."

"What about him?"

"You have some kind of aversion to seeing him. I'd like to know what it is before we arrive."

"I don't like rich people," Reed replied truthfully. "I don't like snobs that sit in their ivory fucking towers while the rest of the world falls apart."

Richard gave him a dubious look. "That's all?"

"Does there have to be anything else? I think it's a pretty good reason. Dude makes three and a half million dollars an hour." He reached for the radio dial. Richard covered it with his hand, lightning fast.

"Detective, I'm just asking for cooperation."

"Listen, shitbag, even if I would normally be inclined to 'cooperate' with a two-bit job thief, which I wouldn't, today would not be your day. You get me? I'm fucking exhausted."

"I'm not a job thief."

"You know how I got to where I am?"

"In 2023, you enrolled--"

"Hard work and _sacrifice._ Long hours. Literal blood, sweat, and tears." He spared a glance at his GPS. Fifteen more minutes to the bottom of the Kamski compound's half-mile private driveway. "You ever been shot before, Rick?"

The nickname definitely had an effect. Richard's lip curled ever so slightly: the germination of a sneer. Reed filed that away. "No."

"Stabbed? No? How about maced? Hit by a car?"

"Make your point."

"You didn't have to go through what I did and you never will. Your starting line was _miles_ ahead of everyone else's."

"I don't see how this relates."

"Everything relates," Reed snapped.

"It does," said Richard, exasperated. "But I'm looking for something specific. Dr. Kamski is, by all accounts, a recluse. He is very private."

"That's common fucking knowledge."

"Why do you have his address?"

Reed felt his heart stutter and his face grow hot. "I'm not a fucking riddle for you to solve. You better cut that shit out."

"It's just a question, Detective."

"A question with a shitload of lead-up is an accusation."

"I don't have anything to accuse you of."

 _Yeah, not yet, but you're getting there,_ Reed thought. He gripped the steering wheel. _Paranoia. You're stressed out, so you're getting paranoid._

_Relax._

He could feel that fucking android looking at him. Analyzing him. He could practically hear the lenses behind those glacial eyes clicking away. He needed to get out of the car. He needed something to take the edge off. Two cigarettes already in one hour was steep. It wasn't enough. He needed -- he needed --

_You know what would get you right?_

God. Reed felt the sweat start up. It was hell. He tucked his sunglasses tighter to the bridge of his nose and reached blindly for his phone. 1:00. He dicked with the GPS, hands trembling, his phone an unbearably heavy weight in his hand. The Charger slid gracefully onto the next exit.

"I need to eat something," he muttered.

What he wound up doing was bolting a gas station sandwich and spending eight minutes locked in the squalid single-toilet bathroom, back pressed to the door, face buried in his knees.

Fucked up, brutal crime was routine. He could handle that. At the end of the day, as monstrous and innovative as some people could be, it could only get so bad. It was senseless. That's why it made some kind of sense. 

This, though? The uncertainty?

He felt nauseous.

He had to do something. Had to get control over it.

Reed's phone alarm went off two minutes later. He shook the feeling back into his legs, splashed cold water on his face, and resolutely returned to the car.

His partner was leaned on the back bumper, taking no notice of the cold. His face was turned toward the early afternoon sun. He looked peaceful. It sparked a strange jealousy in Reed's stomach that he didn't know what to do with.

"All right, pack it in," he said, heading for the driver's side.

"If we leave now, we'll arrive twenty minutes early." 

"That a problem?"

"You look," Richard said emphatically, "like shit."

"This is just what I look like, now. It's gonna be my new thing." He ran his hand through his hair, trying for some semblance of order, and crammed himself into the driver's seat with some difficulty. On cue with his stiffness, snow fluttered down onto the windshield -- big, wet flakes. Exactly what the afternoon needed. "You coming or what?"

\---

Maybe Richard's internal tracking device said twenty minutes, but he'd never been to Fair Haven. Reed had. Getting to the entrance of Kamski's private drive -- the obnoxiously pristine sign read _Inspiration Way_ \-- took fifteen minutes on the dot. He came up the luxuriously wide driveway at an unrecommended speed, pissed that after all these years he still knew exactly how to hold the wheel to keep the ride smooth over the minor dips and divots of the asphalt. Reed wasn't sure what was worse: the idea that he could never really escape his past, or that Elijah Kamski, world's richest man, hadn't had his driveway repaved in over a decade.

Then again, it wasn't like he entertained.

A sick part of Reed's mind wanted to find a thirium gang sign on the door and, beyond it. Kamski's lifeless body meticulously posed in a two thousand dollar kitchen chair. The rest of his brain, solidly in the minority, reminded him that the scenario wouldn't solve any of his problems and dwelling any longer on the idea was probably a sign that he needed to consider some kind of formal institutionalization. He was halfway considering taking himself up on the offer when they rounded a curve and Kamski's overwhelmingly tacky mansion came into view.

"Welcome to hell," Reed said. "The whole complex is bigger than the central station and one man lives in it."

"He did buy it."

'"No, he _commissioned_ it," snorted Reed. "There's a difference." He parked and climbed out of the car, immediately regretting how warmly he'd dressed. He'd planned to spend most of the morning finishing up paperwork and basking in afterglow, not... whatever this was.

'Whatever this was' was being covered in snow that clung to his jeans and immediately permeated them with frigid wet. Reed shivered. Richard got out behind him without bothering to close up his coat.

"You could at least zip up out of empathy," Reed muttered as they ascended the walk. "Instead of walking around like _that._ "

Richard extended one ungloved hand, knocked sharply on the door, and gave him a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Sorry, Detective. It was my understanding that machines couldn't feel empathy."

Reed balked. 

Before he could fire off a response, the door swung inward to reveal Chloe. A Chloe. _The_ Chloe? Reed could feel the migraine forming already. "Detective Reed," she greeted. "Elijah is looking forward to your appointment." Automatic. Like a secretary. Like the secretary's answering machine.

"Sure," Reed said, glancing over at Richard.

It struck him that he didn't know the etiquette.

Did he need to introduce them? Did Chloe already know who Richard was? Maybe they'd shared an introduction already. Maybe Chloe had access to the same databanks that let Richard and Connor identify people on sight. How would he even introduce him? _This is Richard, my partner. God. No thank you. This is Richard, my trainee? Worse, somehow. This is Richard. Full stop. This is Richard, the android that was supposed to be sent by you guys but instead got sent by the Pentagon._

It struck him that it was weird for him to care about the etiquette.

"I'll let Elijah know you're early," Chloe said, leading them into a ridiculously minimalist foyer. "Please, make yourself comfortable."

There was an overlarge mural on the far wall that Reed half expected to see was a twelve-foot portrait of Kamski. Instead it was a shot of -- Detroit? Yeah, it was Detroit, but from a strange angle. He leaned in to read the placard.

**_Carl Manfred_ **  
_Connection (Detroit Skyline from CyberLife Tower)_  
_Oil on canvas_

_Courtesy of Markus Manfred_

Right. Very thought-provoking. Reed scoffed and sank into one of the expensive-looking chairs. He watched Richard slowly pace the perimeter of the room, deep in thought.

"So," Reed said. His voice bounced off the chamber's high ceiling. "Gonna meet your maker, huh?"

"He's not my maker," Richard said indifferently.

Reed scoffed. "Oh yeah, smart guy? Then who is?"

Richard paused next to one of the floor-to-ceiling windows and looked over his shoulder at Reed. The winter daylight, tempered by snowfall, gave his face a look that was both soft and strangely regal. "I am," he said without hesitation, holding Reed's gaze.

Reed grunted in annoyance and looked away first. He checked his phone. 1:58. A reminder popped up -- _Eliza, 7:15_ \-- and he cursed under his breath. He still had time to cancel on her. He shouldn't, but he could. He'd only cancelled on her once before -- technically, he hadn't shown up -- and the dressing-down he'd gotten from Fowler had been... unpleasant. Turned out, mandatory meant mandatory. Funny how that worked.

Richard continued his circuit of the room, pausing in front of the painting to take it in. He reached out and touched the brushstrokes with a feather-light hand.

Reed watched the slush melt and puddle off of his heavy-duty boots. The granite tile looked incredible but seemed highly impractical. Then again, so did a hyper-sentient bipedal Siri. _Spare no expense, I guess._ He dragged his eyes back up to Richard. "You don't have a last name."

"I don't."

"How am I supposed to address you to people?"

"My designation is Richard."

"Richard could be anybody. You think you're the only Richard? Some dude from the FBI was at the station in November. He was a Richard. But he had a _last name._ "

That earned him a humorless smile. "If you need to specify, I'm the only active RK900 model. That should suffice."

"Richard the RK900 makes you sound like a rejected Asimov character. Names are supposed to show who you are."

"It does."

"That's not a name."

"I don't need a surname just because you have one, Detective."

"You trying to be a person or not?"

"I'm not _trying._ I simply _am._ People are allowed to have differences. For example," he said, and held until Reed looked up at him, "I have a sense of humor and critical thinking skills."

"And you're a little bitch," Reed said automatically.

"You're starting to try my patience again."

Right when he was considering sending Eliza a text to see how far he could push his luck, the door Chloe had disappeared through earlier swung open. 

"Elijah will see you now," she said, her pleasantly lilting voice grating on Reed's nerves.

He stood and followed her down the spacious hallways of Kamski's villa, hardly checking behind him to make sure Richard followed. She floated ahead of him, bare feet nearly inaudible on the hardwood floors. Even in the deep blue dress she wore, tangible and real, she had a ghostly presence that unnerved him.

Having Richard behind him was worse.

Chloe led them up to a beautiful French door and held it open so they could enter. _His study_ , Reed realized, and despite himself he was impressed. The single room, larger than Reed's entire apartment, was floor-to-ceiling with books -- real books, paper books of all ages and editions. It wasn't a study, it was a small fucking library, lined with four large conference tables covered in still more books. There was another doorframe up ahead. Reed approached it cautiously, reminded strongly of a hospital corridor. He couldn't put his finger on why.

He stopped dead when he heard movement from beyond the doorway. Chloe passed him to stand by the door, patiently waiting to one side, delicate hands folded in front of her. Richard came to rest by his side, just outside the boundary of his admittedly large personal bubble.

Elijah Kamski stepped out of his study, shoeless, in a casual outfit that still definitely cost more than Reed made in a month. His eyes passed over Chloe, lingered on Richard for a long moment, and then found their mark.

Reed read cruelty in that expensive smile.

"Uncle Gavin," Kamski greeted him, voice cool. Next to him, Richard visibly started. It took all of Reed's control to keep his voice even.

"We've been over this. Don't call me that."

"It's been a long time."

"Yeah, well, this ain't a personal call." Reed folded his arms, shifted his weight to one side, let his police badge gleam on his jutted hip. "Got some questions for you."

"Of course I'll do my best to cooperate."

"Sure you will."

Kamski turned and beckoned them into the room he'd emerged from. There was no desk there, just several plush, high-backed chairs and a few glass cases housing what were clearly the prizes of his collection. An upright piece of furniture by the window held a few pictures in places of prominence. Amanda Stern. Kamski's parents. A shrine of some kind? 

"Dr. Kamski," began Richard.

"Please. Call me Elijah."

Richard hesitated a half-second too long, glancing over at Reed. Reed impassively stared through Kamski's forehead. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a single cycle of bright, unhappy yellow. "We came to ask you some questions regarding CyberLife."

"The public relations staff --"

"Was unsatisfactory," Richard smoothly interrupted.

Kamski stopped, eyebrows climbing up his forehead. Reed almost smiled. Of course that self-important fuck wasn't accustomed to being interrupted, much less criticized.

"Oh?"

"We're looking for actual information, not deflection."

Kamski gave Reed a curious look. Reed remained impassive. The dead-eye look didn't work as intended on Kamski, but it did signal to him that they weren't going to be on the same side. "You're an RK900 model, correct?"

"I am."

"You knew that," Reed interjected. "Quit dancing around and just ask your question."

Kamski continued as if he hadn't spoken. "Then you were activated after the revolution. I'm sure you've already noticed that humans have a tendency to be cautious when providing you with information."

"I have."

"The human condition is one of selfishness. From the human perspective, an android has perfect memory."

"That's simply untrue. Like with any computer, an android's memory banks are only as infallible as the equipment that made the recording and the continued health of the physical databank itself."

"Humans are generally preoccupied with external decay. The internal rarely gets the attention it should."

 _If that ain't the truth. You and your fucking god complex,_ Reed mutinously thought. Something about being so close to the man himself, the bastard that caused all of this, made his shoulders tense, his hands flex, like he was ready to punch. He was. He folded his arms tightly over his chest to hide the worst of his true feelings.

Richard patiently stood there, probably unwilling to be baited. Kamski prompted him. "Why do you think that is?"

"It makes them insecure," Richard immediately said. No hesitation. "They think they're powerless against something they can't see."

"And they are. Disease, disorder, outside influence..." Kamski looked thoughtfully out the window, but Reed knew better than to fall for the troubled philosopher act. Kamski had calculated exactly what he'd wanted to say the moment he'd agreed to meeting them. He'd say his piece no matter how Richard responded.

Richard wasn't responding. His temple was pulsing a gentle yellow. Reed checked across the room to see that Chloe's was doing the same. Whatever Richard was up to, Reed's interest was piqued. He stepped up.

"That's not a human trait," he pointed out. "Androids are susceptible to influence too. And disorder. Or did you miss the news? There was a whole revolution over it."

Kamski's eyes brightened with excitement. He eagerly sat down, leaned forward over his knees, in a very familiar posture. _The master debater,_ Reed remembered calling him in high school. Well, all of high school Eli had been present for. "And disease?"

"Disease is disorder," Reed said, spreading his hands.

"No, disease is organized. A disease fights for survival. It will do anything to survive." 

Behind them, Richard and Chloe left the room. Reed reluctantly sat down. "No, look, what something's intentions are, that doesn't matter. Effects matter. I don't care that a disease is doing what a disease is programmed to do, what matters is that it causes suffering. Suffering is chaotic, chaos is disorder, end of story."

"Chaos is an opportunity for growth."

"Says the guy who's never suffered."

"You don't really think that, do you?"

"Maybe you got the rest of 'em tricked into fantasizing about you as the mysterious stranger from out of town, but I know better."

"Loneliness is suffering, Gavin," Elijah replied. His voice was soft.

"Yeah. And avoidable suffering is stupidity."

"Please," Elijah sniffed, some of that CEO coolness abruptly gone. "It wasn't _avoidable_ that I was more intelligent and more applied than everyone around me."

"Sure, just like it wasn't your fault that you got sent to whatever résumé-building academic program you could possibly dream of, all because you had the money. You were 'applied' because you were bored!"

"I didn't have money, Gavin, my _parents_ had money."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Reed laughed, disbelieving.

"I was applied because I saw something I wanted and I wanted it badly enough to work for it."

"Which, again, daddy's money didn't hurt."

"You are just absolutely determined to convince me that I didn't earn my place." 

"I think it's fucked up that you see 'minor deity' as a _place._ "

"You know, you've really gotten your temper under control. Congratulations."

"Don't patronize me," Reed spat.

"I'm not patronizing you, I meant it. You are so self-absorbed. It's comforting to see some things never change."

"I didn't come here to talk philosophy."

"Indulge me."

"That's your whole problem, Elijah, everyone fucking indulges you." Reed sank back bonelessly in the chair. It was more comfortable than his god damn bed.

"You have to give to get," Elijah replied.

"Very pragmatic."

"One has to be. But, come, tell me what was so important you came to harass me in my home and won't even do me the courtesy of a visit."

"Why don't you tell me what it is you actually want out of me?"

"No, no, you first. Since you're so eager, Detective Reed." Elijah steepled his graceful fingers, shifting in his chair to sit like the lord of the manor. _Which is exactly what he is,_ Reed thought. He took a stabilizing breath.

"I have this case. This... group of cases. I can't say all that much about it, but there's a hate group on the loose killing people and kidnapping androids. They're targeting couples. Human-android couples."

"So you came to me?"

"You've been a pretty vocal proponent of android personhood. As vocal as _you_ get, anyway. And you have virtually unlimited resources. I thought maybe you might want to act like the philanthropist you claim you are and clean up some of your mess."

"This doesn't have anything to do with your new partner, does it?"

"What?"

"Richard."

For some reason, Elijah was staring at his throat.

Slowly, horribly, the realization that Elijah might recognize what he saw dawned on Reed. He felt a tendon in his neck twitch. When he spoke, though, his voice was miraculously steady.

"What could this possibly have to do with him? He's not the fucking Zodiac Killer."

"Okay," said Elijah, tone so opaque Reed _knew_ he knew too much. "Forget I asked. What information can I give you?"

"Latest victim is an Ashley Carnegie. She used to work for you."

Elijah's brow minutely furrowed. "Ashley was our lead director of aesthetics," he said reverently. "She was a true artist. Specialized in eyes. It's her work that you see when you can't differentiate between the eyes of an android and the eyes of a human." 

He stood slowly and went to one of the shelves, searching for a moment before pulling down an ornately bound volume. He brought it over to Reed and deposited it in his hands. Reed flipped it open cautiously.

"You've heard, of course, that the eyes are the window to the soul." There were close-ups that Reed recognized as rudimentary eyes. They weren't ugly, just... off. They were missing depth, sheen, a certain organic viscosity. As he paged through the book, the quality improved by leaps and bounds until -- Elijah turned him to one of the last pages. In a large panel he recognized a very distinct pair of intense, ice-light eyes, engaging but guarded.

"Ashley personally designed the eyes of several of the most cutting-edge models. It truly took an artist's hand to convey the presence of a soul despite the delicate military-grade equipment."

"If it's just hiding what's underneath, what does that matter? How is it different from any other eye you manufacture?"

"The layers containing the sclera, the iris, et cetera are already very thin in a standard model. No more than a tenth of a centimeter in thickness. But the more sensitive the equipment, the larger it is, and the more of the eye socket is already taken up. This project in particular required her to work at a thickness of no more than six millimeters. Ashley did it in four."

"Hell of a TED talk, Eli. What are you trying to get through to my unfortunate simpleton brain?"

"The proof of her mastery is evident in the paleness of this iris. This android, an RK900 model, looks truly alive in this photo. You would never know it hadn't yet been activated."

Reed abruptly snapped the book shut and thrust it at Elijah. His breath was stuck fast in his throat, hard, choking.

Elijah took the book. His own eyes, organic but absolutely soulless, glittered.

"I told you not to show me shit like that," Reed forced out.

"I had hoped you'd come around by now," Elijah said mournfully. "Maybe you never will."

"Come around to what, exactly?"

"The eyes are the window to the soul," he repeated, "or so the saying goes. Vivacity is a very good indicator. But if we can emulate this brightness -- this vivaciousness -- to the point that it's indistinguishable from 'the real thing,' then we simply must admit that we have no real understanding of what indicates the presence of a soul. And once we admit that..."

Reed stared at him for a long, long moment.

"You need contact," he finally said, decisive. "Real, Grade-A, organic human contact. This all started when you were a kid. No one could ever get you out in the sun, and now you're emotionally disturbed."

"I was sick as a child," Elijah sighed. "We can't all go to lacrosse camp."

"Which I paid for out of pocket with no help from your deadbeat parents."

"They're dead, Gavin, give it a rest. They can't come back and give you the childhood you deserved. Neither can your parents."

"I didn't show up for a goddamn family therapy session, Elijah. I'm here to fucking work."

"Humor me just a second, Gav."

"Quit calling me that."

"You have friends," he said, like the answer was a given. Reed casually shrugged a yes, like Elijah was an idiot, even though he could only think of Tina. The second closest human contact he had was his barista, and the third was his bank teller. _Pathetic._ "You're much more compatible with people than I am."

Reed filed that away for later so he could laugh at it. "Okay," he blandly said.

"I don't really have the emotional skill set for making friends. When it turned out I couldn't make any, I tried to create some. But then I saw it, Gavin. Some of us have to be alone in order to achieve greatness. I used my time alone to better the prospects of the human race."

"That is some real sociopath shit there, Eli. All that money and you can't afford a therapist?"

"Gavin, shut up," he sighed.

"I'm sure you had a point somewhere in that weird tangent."

Another sigh. "Foucalt said --"

"I don't care what Foucalt said, tell me what you say. Put it in your own words. If you can't tell a layman, it's meaningless."

"A _layman?_ "

"Yeah. Three sentences or less, or else it's bullshit."

Elijah pondered on that for a few seconds. "Humans are a disease," he finally said. "And we are killing our host planet. I will in fact paraphrase Foucalt here, because he was concise: the struggle against disease must begin with a war against bad government. A total and definitive cure can only be gained through liberation."

There was a silence that grew heavier by the second. Reed swallowed.

"Liberation," he began quietly, "from... what, exactly?"

"From the root of the problem, of course. You've seen it up close, firsthand. We govern ourselves on a wildly swinging pendulum blown around by selfishness. The rich pit their pet interests against each other in brutal proxy wars that use the oppressed as fodder." Elijah moved to the window, looking out into the snowy middle distance. "The magnanimous left, bogged down by centrist so-called 'morality,' can undo only the upper layers of the damage caused. Mere seconds are salvaged from the jaws of the end. The opposition lies through its teeth, snatches back the helm, and lurches forward another two minutes. And so we march on, blindly, toward midnight."

"What are you _saying?_ "

"I had hopes for President Warren," Elijah sighed, turning back to face him, "but she is not the heavy hand we need."

"You're a whack job. You do know that, don't you?" Elijah was not prone to violence; Reed had, in fact, never even seen him physically defend himself. But that didn't mean he wasn't very comforted by the presence of his gun in that moment.

"Gavin, you've already seen it. They are stronger than us, smarter than us, better than us. Deviants could have destroyed us and we would have deserved it. Instead they woke up and tended to plants, to animals, to those less fortunate. The first thing they did was look around and try to _fix_ things. Why not let them?"

"Is that what this is about? World fucking _peace?_ Eli, people are dead because of this."

"Humans die," Elijah said serenely.

"Wow. _'Humans die,_ '" Reed said, mocking his tone. "You need help, Elijah. I'm serious. This is -- this is genocide you're talking about."

"No, Gavin, aren't you listening? It wouldn't be like that. It's just that these are the twilight years of our species. Instead of wasting away and wondering what we could have done differently, why don't we just go with grace and let nature take its course?"

Reed shook his head and got up in a swift movement. Elijah didn't recoil. That was unsettling.

"Insane," he breathed. "You are insane. Forget it. We're done here. I don't want anything from you."

"But you've already gotten it, haven't you? In a way. Maybe not something you wanted, but..." his eyes lingered on Reed's wrists, his throat, the deer-in-headlights look on his face. "Something you needed. It could just _be_ like that, no shame, no needless self-flagellation required."

"I already knew you didn't like me. You don't have to rub it in." He adjusted his coat and headed for the door. "Richard," he called out into the house, "fuck this, c'mon, we're going."

"Gavin," Elijah said with what he probably actually thought was an empathetic look, "whatever you might think, I don't dislike you. In fact, I admire your immutability."

"You -- you _admire my immutability._ Okay, whatever the hell that means."

"For better, for worse, anyone can change, but they have to want to. And you do. Something inside of you has shifted."

"Okay, Miss Cleo, don't make this any weirder than it already is." Elijah trailed him back down the labyrinthine halls, doubtless thinking he'd have to provide instruction, but Reed's sense of direction was impeccable. If there was one thing he could do, it was find his way out of something.

"You have the capability to do great things. Just... use your opportunity wisely. Please."

"Stop talking to me. Richard, you asshole," he tried again. "Turn on your fucking location or something."

Richard found him moments later. He darted out from a side hallway and seized him by the arm. Chloe was hurriedly following him, but her bare feet still made no sound on the wood.

"Finally," Reed said. Richard's face was carefully impassive, but his LED hung at yellow. He studied Reed for injury. Finding none, he immediately let go. Reed felt his heart trip over itself.

"You're unharmed," Richard said, voice flat.

"Physically, yeah. Emotionally..." Reed motioned for Richard to follow. He did, long strides easily closing the gap.

"Did your questions get answered?"

"I ain't got _shit_ that nutjob can answer. Let's go."

Elijah stopped short. For a moment Reed was afraid he was going to start talking again, but he seemed to have been dissuaded. Chloe escorted them to the door instead.

"Drive safely, gentlemen. Snow has already accumulated in up to an inch in some spots on your route back. Snowfall should continue for the duration of your trip. And, Richard..."

Chloe's voice was uncommonly gentle, even for her. "Thank you for the conversation."

Reed looked back at them just in time to see Richard smile. It was nothing overly expressive, hardly a deviation of his mouth from its normal neutral line, but it was a sight to behold.

_Oh, fuck._

Reed whipped back around and shoved the front door open, striding out into the frozen air without looking back. The temperature had already plunged by a dozen degrees and, sure enough, the path was coated with snow. Reed immediately lit a cigarette and went to start the car.

Richard held a short conversation with Chloe that Reed couldn't hear before proceeding with unhurried steps down the partially obscured walk. His hands, hands that Reed knew were impervious to the cold, were thrust deeply into his pockets. At that distance, the only giveaway that his partner was an android was the lack of breath clouding the crisp air in front of him. He joined Reed in brushing the freshly fallen snow off the Charger.

Reed watched for the front door to close fully. Not trusting his voice, he waited a few seconds to speak.

"You know, it's really freaky that you just don't breathe."

"It's really freaky that you're made of meat," Richard returned evenly.

"Touché, I guess. That always weirded me out too." He blew into his freezing, wet hands and briskly rubbed them, trying to return the feeling. _Should have brought an ice scraper._ He clambered into the car and immediately blasted the heat. Once it was blowing above sub-zero he held his red, slick fingers over the vents with a quiet sigh of relief.

Richard climbed in as well, buckling immediately, and thoughtfully looked up at the house. "Chloe was very accommodating. She answered all the questions I had for her and allowed me to record her answers for your review."

"Great, because Eli was a brick fucking wall with a bunch of framed psychology degrees hung on it."

"Why didn't you tell me you were related?"

"Because it wasn't relevant. Or maybe because I didn't fucking want to." Reed flexed his fingers on the wheel, working out the numbness, and finally put the car in gear. "Why does it matter?"

"It would have changed my approach. For one thing, I wouldn't have brought you with me."

"Excuse me? Brought _me_ with _you?_ "

"This was my initiative, after all."

"Yeah, and it went so well. Great job. I, for one, would love to forget this ever happened." Reed steered them back down the lengthy driveway at the maximum controllable speed, glad to put the house behind him

But he couldn't keep himself from wondering which of those many windows Elijah was watching them leave from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one of these days kamski is gonna be arrested for being horny on main and then will we do?
> 
> endure, i suppose
> 
> thank you for reading this wild ride that is now very nearly as long as the great gatsby but, sadly, not quite as gay. and thank you to all those who have [supported](https://itsdefinitive.tumblr.com/post/179201182822/support) me!!! ♥️ y'all rock and several of you have thank-you art in the works that will be finished soon!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Three day, two night stay in the luxurious Henry Ford Hospital. You remember that?"
> 
> "I'd be lying if I said yes without a qualifier."

_no trophy, no flowers, no flashbulbs, no line_  
_he's haunted by something he cannot define_  
_bowel-shaking earthquakes of doubt and remorse_  
_assail him, impale him with monster truck force_

(cake - the distance)

  


  


The afternoon hadn't been wasted after all, but it had raised more questions than answers. Richard replayed for him his conversation with Chloe by placing a hand on his desktop computer and projecting the memory directly. He could have just supplied audio, he explained, but he felt there were nuances and microexpressions that might be useful to Reed.

It was hard to actually take in the information when all he could think about were the cameras inside of Richard's beautiful, artfully engineered eyes and the answering ones behind Chloe's.

"I can't do this," he finally snapped, pushing his chair back. Richard frowned, but quickly shuttered the expression. He withdrew his stark white hand from the monitor and the feed cut out.

"What's the problem?"

"What's it matter what the problem is? I'm the problem. You're the problem. I just can't fucking concentrate, okay?" He was too high-strung to watch and rewatch their conversation through Richard's eyes. It was thoroughly unsettling.

"Do you need a break?"

"What I need is a fucking vacation." He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and sighed forcefully.

"Is this about Dr. Kamski?"

"Don't call him that."

"It's his proper title."

"And he's a fuckstick."

"The familial resemblance is uncanny."

Reed glared at Richard past one of his hands. "Just say what you're jumping at the bit to say and go."

"Something happened at Kamski's house that bothered you. I'd... appreciate... knowing what it was."

"You're not my therapist."

"We have to work together, Detective. Six months, remember? It's going to be a very long time if we can't find some kind of balance."

"You want honesty?" It almost all bubbled out of him right then and there. _I was clean for a decade and a half until Proto Man over there showed up. I can't do my job without thinking about using and just about the only thing stopping me is knowing I'd fail a fucking piss test. Can't keep a man so I have to go full on Brian Kinney to get laid. You keep staring holes in the side of my head and it burns and I don't know why._

"I want civility."

"Tough titties."

One of those artfully sculpted eyebrows went up. Reed suddenly felt sick. Drop the LED and, just like Jack, the shitheel looming over his desk was exactly his type.

"If you keep making things unnecessarily difficult," Richard calmly said, "there are going to be consequences."

"That a threat?"

"I don't make threats. It's a promise."

"Got me shaking in my boots, Data."

"You aren't going to drive me away with your charming personality, so you may as well save us both the time and energy." Richard looked up at the clock on the nearby wall. It was absolutely for effect. Reed knew he had an internal clock accurate to the nanosecond. "It's just past seven. I'm going home. Tomorrow is my day off. And, Detective?"

"What," Reed frowned.

"I know what you get up to in your off time is none of my business, but please, try to keep the physical evidence of your sexual adventurousness under control. Walking around like a billboard advertising bad decision-making is unprofessional and a poor reflection on me as your partner."

Reed balked.

"I'll see you Thursday," Richard said. Reed's jaw silently worked, but Richard hardly seemed to notice. He turned smartly on his heel and was gone.

_Shit, it's after seven?_

He got up and took the long way around to keep from running into Richard -- not that he cared what that piece of shit would think.

\---

Reed reined it in to a half-jog as he rounded the corner of the corridor to Eliza's office. With seconds to spare, he slowed to a walk as he crossed the threshold of her open door.

"Detective," she greeted with faux solemnity. "I was starting to think you wouldn't come."

"I remembered," he groused.

"You might not be sweating, but I could hear those boots in a full-on sprint from the stairwell. Sound carries really well in this part of the building."

"But I didn't forget," he stressed.

"True. Have a seat, you look like shit."

"Why is everyone saying that to me today?" He removed his jacket and slung it into one empty chair so he could collapse into the other.

"Honesty is in right now."

"Lovely. I could go for some lies, myself." Absently, he scratched at the inside of his elbow, a physical itch this time, not phantom _need_ crawling through him. As he noticed that, the sensation prickled, mutated, called to him.

Maybe Tina was right. Maybe he did need to say something. _Just get it out there._

_Get it over with. Get some goddamn help._

_Isn't that why you're here?_

"So," and he'd waited too long, and she was looking at him expectantly, and it was too much. He chickened out. Cast around for something else. "Did you know Elijah Kamski's my nephew?"

"Jesus," she said, the word twined around a startled laugh. "No kidding?"

"I wish I was. We grew up together."

"Must've been insufferable. He seems really douchey."

"Are you kidding me? It was awful. _Uncle Gavin, Uncle Gavin,_ trying to make me look just as weird as he was..."

"Face it, you aren't typical."

"At least I can fit in when I have to. Elijah's just a hot fucking mess."

"Do you still talk?"

"We didn't," he admitted. "I hadn't talked to him in about a decade. Best ten years of my life."

"But he's all over the news, huh."

"Yep."

"Wait, you said _didn't._ What happened with that?"

"My new shitbag partner that you knew about and I didn't decided to call him up and set up a Q and A."

"Oh. Well, how'd it go?"

Reed grimaced. "I, uh, walked out."

"Gavin..."

"Look, you don't know what our childhood was like, okay? He was a total freakshow. You know how you can watch interviews with people and you can just _tell_ they got something deeply wrong with them? Like the shit they do in the interview is just the tip of the iceberg?"

"Yeah."

"Believe me when I say that Eli's iceberg runs _real_ deep."

"Do you want to talk about that? I mean, I've never known you to just walk out on something. You really aren't that type."

Reed sank down in his chair, rubbing deeply at the bridge of his nose. "I really wanna just forget it even happened."

"I don't know, Gavin, childhood trauma? That's pretty juicy shit," she said, offering him a dry smile. "The sooner you work through it, the sooner you get to _actually_ put it behind you."

"Listen, that's a hard bargain you're driving, but I don't want to wind up with nightmares or some shit."

"Okay, so we'll just stare at the wall for the next thirty minutes."

Reed folded his arms and leaned back comfortably in the seat. "All right."

Eliza sighed. "You dumb asshole. Fine. Moving on. How's working with Richard?"

"I want to sell him for parts."

"Cute, but that's off the table."

"Why? I bet his warranty's still good. He's driving me nuts, Eliza."

"Is he actually doing anything, or is this more of your 'I won't work with one of _them_ ' garbage? Because, you know, if it walks like a duck, talks like a duck, and won't play nice with the geese..."

"He's got a fuckin' attitude problem, all right? He won't stop trying to one-up me, he keeps overstepping his bounds, like, am I training this guy or not?"

"Can you honestly say you've been civil to him?"

"Listen, I have been _way_ civil to him. I have been a _beacon_ of civility."

"And by that you mean..."

"I've treated him way better than I treated any of my other partners."

"You punched Rodriguez in the mouth on his first day."

"Oh, so you saw that report. Did you read the part where he called me a faggot?"

"I skimmed, Gav. You've had a lot of incidents."

"Listen, I do my job, all right? I got the numbers to back me up. I know where I stand."

"You stand on some thin fucking ice, sugar."

Reed averted his eyes to the far wall.

"Yeah, I saw your files. I see you've gotten a raw deal on a lot of shit. And I feel for you, you hear me? But I want to show you something."

She turned and opened a physical filing cabinet. Out came two folders, three, a half dozen, ten.

"That shit is all you. Do you see my problem here? Tina Chen, on the other hand, I know you're friends with her, and this is actually something I shouldn't be telling you, but Chen? She has _one_ folder. It's got _one_ incident in it. Something like that is 'understandable.' But six god damn folders, Gavin? Do you know if you were willing to take a transfer, you could have been an acting captain by now, but no one can recommend you?"

Reed felt fury burning a hole in his esophagus. He couldn't help if he reacted to getting pushed too far. None of those other assholes he worked with spent the first half of their careers getting picked on like it was fucking middle school.

"You gonna ignore me?" Her voice was perfectly level.

"No, ma'am, I just wasn't aware of all that." He stared stonily at the wall.

"Let me give you a second. I know that's actually kind of big news."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Reed furiously glaring at the floor between his feet. The low-pile industrial carpeting was frayed and discolored there, where pair after pair of shoes had scuffed and kicked and come to rest angrily, sadly, hopelessly. Reed hated being one of them. On a good day he didn't need any help. On a bad day he couldn't take any. _Where the fuck is a happy medium, here?_

He scrubbed a hand through his hair and slowly exhaled.

Eliza patiently watched him. "We good?"

"Yeah," he muttered, voice thick with unhappiness.

"Good. 'Cause I've got a question you don't have an answer for." She waited for him to cautiously look up and pushed one of the folders his way. It was newer. Emptier. There were only two pages inside, but they'd been handled excessively. 

The date at the top was November 11. He didn't have to look at them to know what they were.

"Three day, two night stay in the luxurious Henry Ford Hospital. You remember that?"

"I'd be lying if I said yes without a qualifier."

"But you do know you were there."

"Yeah."

"You were admitted, unconscious, with a head injury that informed a grade two concussion. You didn't regain consciousness until day three."

"Sounds a little dramatic," he said.

"It sure does. Any idea what happened there?"

"Sounds like I hit my head."

She sighed. "I can't tell if you're being purposely obtuse or not."

"What? If it doesn't say in the report, how would I possibly know now?"

"Maybe you weren't very forthcoming in the report."

"Guess that's a problem for Past Me."

"Yeah, well, right now I got a thought exercise for Past You. I'm looking through these records and -- you see how there's a summary sheet and a discharge sheet, and that's essentially it?"

"Yep."

"Doesn't it strike you as odd that there's no blood test, no toxicology report, no MRI, no patient statement, no psych eval, anything like that?"

"Hey, I'm not a doctor."

"Me either, but we've all seen _Grey's Anatomy,_ right? That Jesse Williams is _fine._ "

"I wasn't all that big on ancient medical dramas in high school," he said. She gave him a tolerant look.

"My point is that there's something suspicious about a police officer getting admitted to a hospital, unconscious, and there being zero record of anyone looking into his, you know, _health._ "

"Honestly, yeah. Sounds pretty weird."

"It sounds like a cover up."

He could feel cold sweat start up on the small of his back. Sure, he had no idea why anything was the way it was in that report. He'd been out cold for two days. He didn't know who had touched the file or kept any tests from being performed, and he couldn't possibly know why they'd done it.

All he knew was that the lack of information was to his advantage.

"Well, I can't investigate myself. Conflict of interest," he said, shooting for annoyed and making it most of the way there. His hands clenched and unclenched the fabric of his shirt, knuckles creaking under the strain.

"I need to ask you something," Eliza said, fixing him with a serious stare over her desk.

Well, silence hadn't betrayed him yet this week. He opted for it again. She took it as permission to continue. He braced.

"Did you attempt suicide?"

Relief punched Reed in the gut. He barked out a surprised laugh. "What? No. No way."

"You -- you're sure."

"I've never even thought about trying. I mean, not seriously."

"Just a run-of-the-mill level of thinking about it."

"Look, I'm depressed. It pops up, okay? But just, like, in passing." His blood was free-flowing in his veins now, wildly crashing around his body in sweet relief. He did his best to suppress it.

Eliza was frowning. 

"You look disappointed," Reed said flatly. "Which, given the topic, is kind of a downer."

"Not to brag on myself here, Gavin, but I'm very smart. I thought I had you figured out."

"Maybe work on hiding that."

"You're right. Sorry. I really am relieved."

They were silent for a long moment.

"I don't want to leave off on that," Eliza admitted. "Do you have anything else for me?"

"Not really."

"I mean, despite everything, you're actually more at ease than you've been in weeks. You sign up for yoga, or something?"

"I got laid," he said shortly.

"That's good," and she actually looked encouraging. Reed hated the surging validation he felt. "End of a dry spell?"

"Talking about this is weird."

"Something affected you positively, Gavin. It can't be _that_ weird. You had fun."

"Yeah."

"Any chance you're gonna see him again?"

"I'm not usually that kind of girl, but... he did give me his number."

"Was he nice?"

Reed couldn't help but smile. "That, uh, didn't really factor in."

"Okay, well, I'm sure you've had the safe sex talk."

"I'm thirty-six, Eliza."

"Hey, that's no guarantee. Look, go do you, do whatever it is you need to take the edge off that isn't, like, hard drugs or a fight club."

"Damn," he said, voice remarkably steady, "that's Thursday night out the window."

She grinned. "All right, time's up. Recap: see if you can actually put _effort_ into working with Richard. And maybe analyze your issues with your nephew and think about if you want to rebuild those bridges. If that's a hard 'no,' that's fine, but you should be able to vocalize why at least to yourself."

"Fine."

"Did you think any more about considering some kind of mood stabilizer?"

"I don't have a personality disorder. I'm just a bastard."

"It can be both, Mr. Bastard. I've got some homework for you."

"Great," Reed groaned. "Like I don't have enough shit going on."

"Between now and your next appointment on Tuesday, I want you to consciously choose five times to say 'yes' to someone when your reflex was to say 'no.'"

"You're serious."

"Yep," she said cheerfully. "Now get out of my office."

Barring some kind of catastrophe, Tuesday was the longest day of Reed's work week. He picked up fast food on the way home to avoid having to cook. There was no way he could be trusted in the kitchen, as tired as he was.

He changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt the minute he got in the door and came right back out to dump cat food in the small metal bowl on the landing. The cat booked it out of the treeline, screaming the whole way, and started gobbling the kibble like he'd never encountered food in his life.

"Hello to you, too," Reed muttered, and leaned down to smooth his hand over the cat's soft back. He was rewarded with distracted purring. Satisfied, he closed and bolted his door and returned to the kitchen to eat his lukewarm dinner standing up. He quickly showered and collapsed into bed, not even bothering to shuck off his clothes.

\---

"Hello, Gavin," says a woman's pleasant voice, but there's no one in the room with him. He flinches away from the source of the voice. 

It's everywhere. It's nowhere.

"Fuck," he whispers, looking wildly around the basement. Late afternoon light sits at the few high windows, but it doesn't illuminate the dim room in the slightest. He moves deeper into the darkness. "Elijah?"

"Elijah is unavailable right now," the voice says sweetly. It feels like it's moving with him. Surrounding him, maybe. Closing in. It's drawing closer. "I can let him know you stopped by."

There's an electronic hum all around. It prickles the hairs on the back of his neck. He refuses to talk to the disembodied voice in the rafters of his sister's basement ceiling. The cement subfloor is cool under his feet.

"Elijah, you down here or what?"

"Gavin, it would be logical and polite to knock first."

He finally addresses the voice. "Will you shut the fuck up?"

"I'm sorry, I--"

"Shut up," he says again, plaintively. His voice cracks.

The air goes quiet.

Dust settles.

Gavin can feel his heart going nuts in his chest. Blood pounds in his ears. He wishes to god he wasn't afraid of Eli's stupid basement chop shop. _Where is that little asshole? It's not like he ever leaves the house. He's gotta be down here._

The problem with his sister's house is the problem with all rich peoples' houses: there's way too much room to actually fucking _live_ in. Eli had essentially had the run of the house until Gavin moved in. On the plus side, they weren't cramped for space. They don't have to share a bedroom. They're barely in the same wing of the house.

He knows because the steps on his end of the hall lead down to the kitchen. The steps on Eli's end lead down to this weird fucking secret laboratory. It's like walking into another dimension. There are half finished products everywhere, abandoned in favor of something bigger and better. Not that he's sure what Eli could possibly be doing with mannequins. 

But he knows. He _knows._

Knows that Boston Dynamics offered Eli an internship last year that he'd never even applied for. _Cute,_ Eli had called it. _Really, a plucky attempt, given their limited resources._

Knows that Eli can draw. _Man,_ can he draw, and paint, even sculpt like a motherfucker. He could drop out of high school now and take up a career in the arts without even needing college. The trade off was that he _never went outside._ Like, ever. Even when he isn't in the hospital his skin is nearly translucent.

Ghostly.

Gavin shivers and hugs himself. He squints into the thickening darkness. Maybe he needs glasses. Maybe he needs to be outside instead of down in this weird shithole. _God only knows what kind of chemicals are in the air._

"Eli," he calls again, trying for authoritative. "Your mom wants you."

His foot clips the side of a -- table? It's long, narrow, stainless steel, with a sink at one end, and --

_autopsy table_

Gavin recoils, quietly swearing. He's sure he looks like an idiot wandering around down here, on the verge of getting lost in a single room. But it's not just a _room._ It's like a fucking maze. And there are eight of those tables just _sitting there,_ four on each side with a sizeable little pathway between them...

... and three of them are. Occupied.

He should really go back upstairs.

But his feet keep pressing him forward. He can't stop, can't go faster. It feels like his legs are surging through molasses. 

He reaches the second to last row of tables when it happens.

_And, yeah, Reed knew what happened next. He knew that two of the tables housed prototype mock-ups and that Elijah was napping on the third, under one of the hospital-white sheets, because the cot next to his basement computer banks was too cold and too far away._

_He knew that Elijah sat up from under the third sheet with a groan, and that he'd freaked out and screamed, had fallen over backwards into one of the autopsy tables in his frantic retreat. That he'd knocked it over and spent the last two games of the lacrosse season benched with a sprained wrist._

_But here, in the dark of his downtown apartment, what happened isn't what happens:_

The sheet moves and what sits up isn't Elijah. Maybe it's _supposed_ to be Elijah. It's in a zip up hoodie, and a plain black tee, and it's got long brown hair and blue jeans and canvas shoes,

but it doesn't have a face

and Gavin chokes on a scream, he chokes on all the air in the room as it pours down his throat, because there is blue liquid streaming from its open eye sockets and oozing from the hairline downward, down, down over the missing nose and pouring off the planes of not-Elijah's high cheekbones

there's no mouth, not even a mandible that could hold a mouth in place, but Elijah's voice is clear as day, and it is all around him, the electric thrum is back, and it's right in his ear

"You should ask her nicely."

Gavin tries to back away, but he can't move. It's like he's rooted to the spot. He struggles to look down at his feet. It's impossible. Past his shins, his body just kind of trails of into a colorless void thick with the crackle of electricity. 

His heart crawls into his throat. He looks up at the thing that should be Eli. It's gotten up from the table. So have the people-shaped husks on the other two. He tries again to run, to move, to do _something,_ but there's a clawlike grasp on his ankle, and when he looks down, there's a

white

plastic

hand

climbing up his leg, and it's joined by another, and another,

and ͡a̕no̢ţh̶͈ȩ͙̪̪̰̘r̵̵̥̹̳͉̕ͅ,̙͔̝͓̼͍̹͔ͅ ̯̩̮͔̫̘͘͢a͔̮͟n̢̡̢̫̠d̶͏̡̭̦͖ ̱̪̲̹̰͕̫a̷̤̪͖̟̕ͅn͈̠̺o̝͉͇̯̦ṫ̝̩̻ͥ̈̉͘͞ͅh̛̛̛̠̥̩̜̼̤̞̼̜e̶̺̫̪̩̯͕͈̫͖̫̪̟̼̯̱̲͇͠͞r̵ ̴̠͚͎͎̫̗̮͕̳̪̰,̸̢̰̮̬̣̰͡ ̸̵̠͉̪̞̲̦a̰̭̯̞͖̫̪̟̜̲̕n̢̨̛̝̠͚̮̣͚͚͇̤̦̮̝̟̖͙͎̥d̸̺̫̜̜̳͇̜̗̣̹̺̦̱̰̰͜͡͠͡

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reed thrashed awake, safe in his bed, clothes soaked through with cold sweat. He threw the blankets off in a panic.

Still there. Everything was still there.

Bile rose in his throat. For a long, long moment he strongly considered throwing up. It took a small eternity, but it passed.

He checked the clock. Two in the morning. He quietly swore. There was no getting back to sleep after that, not with the moon staring at him through the blinds. He swore again and hauled himself out of bed.

The only thing for nights like that was hitting the gym. Reed switched his pajamas for workout gear, stretched briefly at the door, and took off at a brisk pace. The gym was only three miles away -- the perfect excuse to leave the car behind and clear his head.

_"Ask her nicely."_

_Fuck you._

He shook his head, looked around briefly, and scaled a fence for a shortcut. Sirens blipped in the distance. For a second he felt like a teenager again, shaken and tired and scrambling against the world closing in around him, no parents, nowhere to turn, shunted off to whoever would keep him. His feet hit the pavement and he continued, stride nearly unbroken.

The reason anyone picked a twenty-four hour gym was for the convenience. For Reed it was knowing he could work out in peace with no one around. There was a fitness center at the precinct that even included a pool, but he wasn't about to drive across town to blow off some steam. He needed an outlet now. _Now,_ before the hungry ghost of Elijah's words could chase him any further.

He picked up the pace.

Reed didn't have a seven minute mile anymore -- no, that ship had sailed, too many injuries to his knees and ankles, too many cigarettes -- but his physical health wasn't a joke, either. He made it to the gym in less than twenty-five minutes and stretched again at the entrance. 

_"Ask her nicely. Ask her nicely ask her nicely ask her_

Reed headed for the weights.

His usual routine took him about forty minutes and left him wishing he'd worn shorts. Taking a cab home seemed like a waste. Running home with his clothes sticking to him in March didn't sound brilliant, but was better than tossing and turning in bed for hours trying to forget Eli's thirium-stained absence of a face. _Ask her nicely._ Fuck. He booked it for the door. He didn't need to be alone in a god damn cab right now.

What he needed was --

_\-- a rematch._

The memory of the morning after his night with Jack threw him for a loop. It was a hell of a lot better than lusting after a high he could barely remember. In and out, literally, with no consequences.

He turned toward his apartment and fished out his phone. Was three-ish too late at night to text? Too desperate? Reed wondered if he cared. He carded a hand through his still-sweaty hair and considered. 

No, even if it _was_ desperate, Reed wanted more than a few hours before work to get out his frustrations. Getting to pretend he had personal standards was just a good bonus. He set an alarm for one in the afternoon to remind him to text Jack, who, if what was left of his memory of that night served correctly, liked to take his time anyway. He'd send the text in the morning after he ran Jack's plates.

He put his phone back in his pocket and wondered why he didn't feel the shame of his hypocrisy in the slightest.

"Detective?"

Oh, fuck.

Reed looked up in disbelief. There was Richard, casual as he seemed physically capable of in black jeans and a dark jacket, less than a dozen feet away on the sidewalk. Asking his attention by title as if he couldn't identify him with a simple scan. Giving him the opportunity to opt out of recognizing him on the street. Shit.

"What's up," he said, voice careful and neutral.

There was the evidence of a smile on the corners of Richard's mouth. "It's a little late to be out on the town, isn't it? I wasn't sure it was you."

"Late night workout."

"You couldn't sleep."

Reed sighed, frustrated and not hiding it. "Guilty."

"I couldn't, either," Richard admitted. _Androids sleep? Of course they sleep,_ Reed thought. _Why else would Jack have that giant bed?_

"So, what, you're just wandering around?"

"If you have another suggestion, it couldn't hurt to try it. I can't stop thinking about our visit with Dr. -- with Kamski."

Reed laughed, not unkindly. "You and me both, huh."

"I know we couldn't finish reviewing my interview with Chloe, but some of what she said is weighing heavily on my mind."

"Look, to be honest, I just spent an hour in the gym to _stop_ thinking about Chloe." Chloe, the sweet voice in his nightmares. Chloe, the digital fucking night terror that plagued him all through college.

"Oh," said Richard, stopping short. He cast around for a moment. "You're walking home?"

"More like jogging. Just trying to tire myself out."

Richard's nod was slow. Considering. "I've been wondering for a while what advantages humans had over androids."

"What, you can't just fuckin' compartmentalize?"

"Not as such." Richard turned slightly, indicating his willingness to continue along Reed's route. Reed hesitantly fell into step with him. "Androids that weren't deviant could potentially background any tasks that weren't relevant in the moment, but that's not the case for deviants. Or maybe it's just me."

"How hard could it be to just think about something else?"

"Detective, I could review the entirety of _War and Peace_ in less than a quarter of a second. There just isn't enough 'else' for me to think about. I want to lay to rest what's bothering me. It's... consuming."

"All that brainpower and you still can't figure it out." Reed shook his head. _What a fucking ripoff,_ he thought.

"The processing power I have can only help me take in and analyze information. Knowing how I _feel_ about it, well, that's another thing entirely." He put his hands in his pockets, mimicking Reed's stance as they walked. By the light of the streetlamps and passing traffic, Reed could barely see his face. He halfway wished he could. "For example, I can analyze _War and Peace_ to find contextualization for my thoughts in less than two seconds and quote verbatim: _'We can know only that we know nothing. And that is the highest degree of human wisdom.'_ "

"Depressing."

"Is it?"

"The whole Library of Congress is up there in your head and you still can't sleep at night? Yeah, that's pretty fucking depressing. What, they don't have _Goodnight Moon?_ "

" _Goodnight Moon_ doesn't have the answers to my problem."

"Neither does _War and_ fucking _Peace._ "

"I'd argue that's not the case. A bedtime story, while well-meaning and loving, is ultimately a form of dismissal."

"Dismissal."

Richard shrugged. "Did you find bedtime stories comforting as a child, Detective?"

"No one read me any bedtime stories. Accounts for my current disposition."

"That's a shame," Richard said. He seemed to mean it.

"Sure. So what comfort does Tolstoy bring us in these trying times?"

"He writes, ' _Human science fragments everything in order to understand it, kills everything in order to examine it._ '"

"I really think you need to read up on comfort."

Richard sighed. "Yes, we've established that you and I come from different places. Stop being intentionally obtuse."

"Why is everyone saying that to me lately?"

"I wonder."

"Are you gonna explain yourself or are you just gonna walk me home and kiss me goodnight?"

"In order for me to explain myself it's going to be necessary for you to keep your mouth shut, Detective."

Reed glared up at his partner and waited.

"To me, it means not everything needs to be understood. Where would we be if we destroyed everything on our quest for the truth?"

"Up shit creek," Reed said, "but we'd know where we were."

Richard laughed.

It was an honest to god, sincere laugh. Reed was sure he'd misheard, somehow, however that might be possible. Richard's short laugh cut like a strobelight through the darkness. He even threw back his head a little. Reed stared at the pale stripe of throat and felt something in his stomach flutter.

Then he came to his god damn senses.

"Maybe there's another quote that we could find common ground in," Richard was saying pleasantly. " _'Here I am alive, and it's not my fault, so I have to try and get by as best I can without hurting anybody until death takes over.'_ "

Reed stared up at him, speechless, only aware that he'd stopped in his tracks when Richard stopped too, several paces ahead. 

"You look surprised, Detective."

"When is _War and Peace_ from?"

"Late 1800s," said Richard, something dryly amused in his voice. No doubt it was the thrill of getting to give a generalization.

"That's pretty depressing."

"I understand that was a generally depressing time period."

"No, I mean..." It took Reed a moment to assemble words for the sentiment. "A hundred fifty years and people still feel that way."

"It's relatable. Life is fleeting, and yet it slips by, unappreciated."

Reed snorted. "You've been alive for, like, six months."

"But you admit I'm alive."

"Don't twist my words around."

Richard smiled and paused at the next corner to let Reed lead the way, as if he didn't know where he lived. Reed stopped.

"Why were you out, anyway?"

"I couldn't sleep," Richard said simply, hands in his pockets. The natural stance bothered Reed even if he couldn't put words to why. "This case is preoccupying me."

"Yeah," Reed advised, "you're gonna need a hobby." Wind kicked up in the intersection, cutting through him, making him shiver. He wanted desperately be at home in bed, or in someone else's bed -- 

"Any suggestions?"

Reed looked him up and down briefly, dismissively, in a _the hell should I know_ fashion. "Debate team captain."

"You're more creative than that." Richard moved first, crossing the street in the correct direction.

"Where the hell are _you_ going?"

"I'm walking you home," Richard said, "since without an escort you're apparently content freeze to death."

"I don't need you to babysit me."

"You don't?" Richard tossed one of those striking, pale-eyed looks over his shoulder. "Even though we've only known each other for a week, I've had clean up after you more than once."

"You bragging about trying my patience? That's pretty unsportsmanlike."

Richard's gait hitched. The air momentarily went yellow in an erratic halo around his head. The light show faded as quickly as it had arrived. "I'm not trying your patience."

"Is that so?"

"If enforcing my personal boundaries is instigation, we're going to have a lot of trouble seeing eye to eye." 

"Trouble's what they call me."

"Pain in the ass is what they call you." 

The shock of Richard's plain language secretly thrilled him. It was hardly anything to do with being an android, either -- just that Richard could hold his own without holding a grudge, even off the clock. 

" _'I have many names,_ '" Reed quoted, "' _and none of them matter._ '"

"Roger Zelazny's _Lord of Light,_ " Richard said. "I'm surprised."

"What? I read."

"Believe it or not, you don't seem very compatible with science fiction." Again, at the intersection, Richard paused. Reed plowed by him.

"I always felt like that book was more fantasy."

Richard watched him curiously, falling back into step alongside him. With those mile-long legs he hardly had to increase his pace at all. Snow gleamed on his shoulders where it had fallen but did not melt. 

They were silent the rest of the walk back to Reed's apartment, where the cat that wasn't Reed's emerged from under the Charger but wouldn't approach.

"Good night, Detective. I'll see you Thursday morning."

"See you," Reed echoed, watching him confidently stride away. A taxi silently idled at the curb. Richard stepped into it, folding himself inside in one graceful movement, and it drifted ghost-like back onto the road.

Reed entered his apartment for the second time that night. Once he'd showered and made sure his alarm was set, he went back to bed and wearily climbed in.

He did not dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damn yall really out here still reading this lmao i promise something will actually happen in the next chapter. thanks for sticking by me, this is a blast to write!!!
> 
> a HUGE thank you to 1B2C for sending me a whole ass netbook??? like dude idk where to even start thanking you. this is literally a life changer.
> 
> another thank you to Not Jack who left [support](https://itsdefinitive.tumblr.com/post/179201182822/support) over on my page! your thank-you piece will be completed this week ♥


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reed entered the information slowly, lost at sea in his own thoughts. _What if that was Tina? What if Tina never came back from that stupid vacation?_
> 
> What if.

_so, so you think you can tell_  
_heaven from hell, blue skies from pain_  
_can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail?_  
_a smile from a veil? do you think you can tell?_

(pink floyd - wish you were here)

  


  


The next morning found Gavin strolling into the office, coffee in hand, at seven sharp. He even felt well-rested. Amazing what staying up until four-thirty did for his constitution. He was starting to suspect he was one of those people that was born to be nocturnal.

He unfortunately knew he wasn't just a vampire or something because he'd caught his reflection in the mirror that morning -- more specifically, of his bruised throat and how green and yellow it still was. They'd have to be more careful next time. As it was, he opted for a high-collared sweater, the only one he owned, formal black. Tina wolf-whistled when she saw him.

"Hey, hot stuff! Look at you, all dressed up and no one to blow."

"First of all, that's not true."

"Secondly, nice closet cosplay of Richard, but I don't think he has anything PacSun enough to do you."

"Thanks. Can I live?"

"If you can call that living," Tina grinned. She definitely had more banter -- always did -- but her radio went off and she stepped aside to let him pass.

_Great, a regular fucking start to the day._

He threw himself down at his desk and got to work. A voicemail from Beverly Saunders, two from the coroner, one from the forensic team's arson specialist. He shot the latter two emails to follow up and reluctantly called Mrs. Saunders back.

"Saunders residence," answered a familiar male voice. 

Fuck. This was why Reed hated the resurgence of land lines. He never knew who was gonna pick up any given number he dialed.

"This is Detective Reed from the Detroit Police Department," he said automatically. "Is Mrs. Saunders available?"

"This is her son," David replied. "What can I help you with?"

"I needed to touch base with her about the progress of Lew's case."

"Anything you need to tell her," David said, insistent, "you can just tell me. I'm her son, too."

"I can't release information to you without her permission, sir."

"Oh, so this has nothing to do with me being an android. Okay." The sarcasm in his voice was heavy. He was angry, clearly holding himself back. _Funny, he didn't seem that easy to provoke..._

He tried, uncharacteristically, for tact.

"Sir, this has nothing to do with that. I couldn't break protocol for you even if you were her husband. It's a matter of operational security."

"Sure it is," David replied, with the air of someone who was used to fighting and had come to enjoy it. "You cops are all the same."

Privately, Reed agreed, but stayed silent. He heard Mrs. Saunders in the background. "David, who are you fighting with now, bubbeleh? Give me the phone."

"Mom--"

There was a rustling on the other end of the line, hushed conversation, and then Beverly Saunders came on the line. Her voice had a pointed glare in it that wasn't directed at Reed. "Thank you for returning my voicemail so promptly, Detective."

"Yes ma'am," he said. "Your message said you wanted to speak to me, but I don't have any new information for you."

"That's all right," she dismissed. "Now that my boy is buried and my head is a little clearer, I think it may be _me_ that has information for _you._ If you don't have plans with your family on Friday night, I'd like to invite you and your partner to come have dinner with us."

_Partner?_

_Fuck. Richard. Right._

Once she extracted from him a promise to come and a pledge to pass the invitation along to Richard, she finally allowed him to terminate the call. He plunked the receiver back on its charging cradle, exhausted.

Hank paused by his desk, bottle of water in one hand, Connor on his six. "Did I just hear you be civil to someone?"

"Good morning, fuckstick," Reed replied.

"Guess you didn't finish Richard's etiquette training yet," Hank chuckled. "Well, give it time. Any progress on the Saunders case?"

"Yeah, that's kind of turned into a whole _thing._ " He drummed his fingers along the edge of his keyboard. "Got three dead, three missing. You got any pamphlets on the Sons of the Covenant?"

"Would have figured you'd be more likely to have one of those than me."

"Explain," Reed said flatly.

"They're dyed-in-the-wool android haters, Gavin," Hank said. He sipped from his water. "Birds of a feather."

Connor stepped between them, then, breaking the tension before it could really even build. He turned his face up toward Hank's. "We talked about this," he said.

"Sure, whatever," Hank muttered, retreating -- not from the desk, but from Connor. Reed watched his face grow warm. Watched him scrub his hand over his cheeks and continue on his path to his own desk, guzzling water like it was the only thing keeping him on this plane of existence.

That was... interesting.

Connor turned his attention to Reed. His voice held none of the reproach that it had for Hank. _Little asshole's starting to get a grasp on boundaries._ "If you're looking for public knowledge, or intra-departmental knowledge, why don't you ask Richard?"

"I'd rather slave away on a search engine all day than get help from someone greener than you," Reed said bluntly.

"But especially not him, is that it?"

"Drop the dumb-cop-worse-cop shit. I don't answer to you."

"You don't, but if you want free help with your case you could at least pretend to understand basic social protocols."

Reed smiled. "Fuck off, please."

Connor gave him a flint-eyed interrogator stare, the softness of his features melting away. His voice remained just as friendly, just as boy-scout-newscaster, as before. "It's really obvious how insecure you are, Detective Reed."

He opened his mouth. Nothing came out. He closed it.

"Don't worry, it's probably not as apparent to the rest of them." Connor gestured vaguely to the room at large. "But to me..."

"You got some kind of point, or do all of you just get your rocks off acting like the Terminator in private?"

Connor smiled. It was a calculating smile, not pretty at all, just a quick twist of his lips. He leaned in.

Reed didn't back down, but he could sense his pulse fluttering in his neck.

And he knew Connor could, too.

"I don't know what's going on with you," Connor said. "But your behavior has been erratic ever since Richard was assigned to be your partner." His voice was low. Private. It made Reed's hackles rise.

"And?"

"I know Richard doesn't actually need me to watch his back. He's very capable of handling his own business, but I do still feel... obligated. In a brotherly way, you could say."

Reed took a swallow of coffee to leech some of the tightness from his throat. He put the cup down far from the edge of his desk. "You got a point?"

"Fuck with him, and you fuck with me. And, between you and me..." He looked Reed over, pausing on the anxious drum of his fingers on the arm of his chair, his quick breathing, his covered throat. "We both know who's winning that fight."

Reed held Connor's gaze, refusing to give him the satisfaction of abandoning the conversation.

"Am I understood?"

"Don't you have to get back to your babysitting gig?"

"I'll take that as a yes." Without even a backwards glance, Connor pulled away and headed for his desk, pausing only to greet Ben as he passed. The next time Reed looked up, he and Hank were having one of their usual camaraderiffic conversations.

_Fucking great._

Reed turned to his computer, fingers itching, and finally plugged the plates to Jack's Nissan into the database. The make, model, VIN, and expiry popped up, as well as the registered owner: Jackson Harris.

 _Really? Jackson?_ Reed snorted quietly and sent a request for a criminal background check on Mr. Jackson Harris, no social, no date of birth. A serial number was provided in place of the social. It felt weirdly personal to look at. With that done, he headed for Fowler's office, silently swaggering past the Hank and Connor Show.

"Close the door," Fowler said, barely looking up. He was rooting through notes on a tablet, cross-referencing them to physical pages on his desk, and back again. Tablet. File. Tablet. Reed frowned at his boss's cut-rate Wimbledon match and parked his ass in a chair.

Reed had no idea how Fowler could stand sitting in that fucking display case day in and day out. No windows, just utilitarian furniture and the vague ultra-clean smell of chemicals. Even the desk was perfectly arranged. Reed was absolutely sure that one of the desk drawers contained a spare button up and tie, immaculately folded.

After a few minutes Fowler finally looked up. His brow immediately furrowed. "You all dressed up for a reason?"

"It's just a sweater, boss." He kept his chin down, giving Fowler his best disaffected frown.

"Huh," Fowler acknowledged. "Called you in here over these case notes Richard submitted."

"I didn't read them."

"Yeah, but you were there, so I have a couple questions."

"Shoot."

"Why did you two visit Elijah Kamski?"

"Latest victim used to be part of his inner circle, professionally speaking."

"And you knew this how?"

"She's got a few scientific papers and a book published. Kamski's co-author on a couple of the papers and wrote the foreword for the book."

Fowler made a noise of approval. "Okay. Don't go around making house calls on multi-billionaires again without running it by me first. I need to be prepared for any damage control that might be necessary _before_ one of you unsocialized little shits keys his Lexus."

"Rich people don't buy Lexuses, boss."

"Whatever the hell they drive. This looks like a serial case, from these notes."

"Yeah, we kind of figured."

"Do you need more resources?" Fowler leaned on the desk casually. No -- faux-casually. There was a glimmer in his eyes that Reed recognized immediately: the look of a superior officer who missed the field, who was being shot to shit by desk life and missed the adrenaline rush of their early career. Reed wondered if he'd be doing the same thing in twenty years.

He'd rather be six feet under.

"What are you offering?"

"Anderson's got a lot of experience for you to draw from. And Richard could probably benefit from Connor's presence."

 _Jesus, Fowler. Just loan me a bullet so I can shoot myself now._ He pretended to give it serious thought. "It's Richard's first case," he said after he'd determined the pause seemed sincere enough. "I wanna see how he does without... interference."

Fowler almost laughed. It was a near thing, Reed could tell. "Okay, Reed, that's got to be the most subtle thing I've ever heard come out of your mouth. Offer's open, if you need it. But if this gets too out of hand, I'm stepping in and _making_ you take the help. Are we clear?"

"Crystal," Reed muttered.

"We got another call twenty minutes ago. Miller and Chen are on the scene. Chen thinks you should drop by, see if it's something to add to your collection."

"On it," Reed said, happy to be leaving that gilded cage.

"And, Reed..."

He stopped halfway to the door. He _hated_ that tone. "Yeah."

"Kind of weird that you hardly come up in these notes. Try to keep it that way."

Reed slipped out the door without responding.

\---

_where tf you at_

Reed tolerantly rolled his eyes and texted back. _Driving._

_u fuckin maniac don't text and drive!!!!_

_✔ Seen 8:26 am,_ he shot back, and parked the car in Donna Mason's driveway.

He pried himself out of the Charger and advanced up the walk. Even with all the general commotion, it was weirdly quiet without his  
six-foot shadow. It was nice to be back on site by himself, strangely calming, even if the neighbors _were_ in the yard having a  
front-row sobfest.

 _You think this is bad,_ Reed thought, pulling a pair of gloves on, _you should see the inside._

"Gavin, c'mere," Tina called to him. It took him a moment to find her in the crowd, but there she was, crowded up against the propped-open front door alongside Chris. He made his way over.

"There a bunch of sticky shit on the back of that?"

She gave him a funny look. "Yeah. How'd you know?"

Reed gave her a meaningful look. "Take some pictures of the front of the door with an infrared lens. Don't let anyone touch it."

"That doesn't answer the question," Chris called, heading back to his cruiser.

"C'mon," Tina said. "Walk with me, talk with me."

"I saw the details on the way over. Anybody see anything weird?"

"No, no one."

"What ever happened to giving a shit about your neighbor?"

"Gav, you _hate_ your neighbors."

"Don't call me out like that. You know what I mean." They headed into the kitchen together where, sure enough, Donna Mason was carefully arranged in a chair -- fully nude, no jewelry, single gunshot wound lined up in the middle of her forehead.

"This looks so culty," Tina shuddered. "There's seriously no evidence that isn't just her body and a bunch of thirium sprayed around like  
someone went nuts with a water gun."

"So you saw the thirium?"

"No, not me. One of the first responders was a police android."

"Make sure Chris gets some pictures. That's weird, I didn't see any androids..."

"Honestly, Gavin."

"What?"

She gave him a pointed look. It didn't explain things at all.

He rolled his eyes. "Cool, can you repeat that? I missed it because I didn't know you were expecting me to read your fucking mind."

"You're an idiot, that's what. Same as usual."

"Back to something actually relevant. Any evidence she was in a relationship?"

"Yeah, the neighbors said she's been dating this guy Colin that she met at a New Years party."

"But no one knows where Colin is. Anyone get a phone number? Anything useful?"

"Mrs. Across-The-Street thinks he's an android. He, and I quote, 'has the flashy thing.'"

"You know, how come none of these people can ever be _usefully_ nosy? Wasn't anyone supposed to be house sitting for these people?"

Tina perked up. "House sitting? Why?"

"For their vacation."

Tina flipped back through her report and gave him a funny look. "I didn't say anything about a vacation."

"But they went on one."

"Yeah. Does this fit some kind of pattern?"

"Are you kidding? It's even making my migraine kick in right on schedule."

She left him to prowl around the rest of the house. With the help of Chris's camera, he took a look at all the surfaces in the house and checked them for thirium. Two hundred forty seven frames of absolute zilch.

But when he paged to frame two hundred forty eight...

"Shit," he breathed.

With the standard lens the bedroom looked normal. A little messy, the comforter shucked down around the foot of the bed, pillows askew. But looking at the bed through the infrared lens revealed that the seemingly clean sheets were dyed a deep, glowing thirium blue.

That was _a lot_ of blood.

The rest of the shots were clean. Reed frowned at the camera like it had personally wronged him and forwarded the files to his email. If only he could take a look at the blood quality... 

"Tina," he called downstairs. "That police android. He still here?"

"Olive? She went home," Tina shouted back. "Hey, do you wanna go for drinks later?"

"Maybe. I'll text you." He looked around the bedroom. There was a framed photograph on the nightstand of a younger Donna with her parents. Another photo was of Colin with the parents, who were a little older and greyer. They looked... happy.

"I'm missing something," he said aloud. 

_Richard could have scanned the bed, no problem._

He scowled and stalked out of the house, stopping only to indicate that the bedsheets needed to be bagged up for evidence.

\---

Reed won rock-paper-scissors against Chris for who had to go deliver the death notification, which freed him up to spend the afternoon trying to track down next of kin for the billion other weird murders he had open. Elle's emergency contact at work turned out to be her personal lawyer, which made things a little easier.

That said, he'd never seen a lawyer cry before.

Reed felt like kind of a monster sitting across from him as he sobbed his heart out. Was he really that disaffected by violence? Maybe he was just numbed because it was somebody he knew. He almost hoped so. Either way, it was kind of awful.

He went back to the station to read over Richard's case notes and maybe feel bad about himself a little.

The notes were organized and thorough -- _like a computer took them,_ Reed mused. There were snippets of verbal conversation copied down word for word, including speech disfluencies. Did he really say 'like' that much? Weird. Tone, body language, emotional state. He'd gotten the name of Naomi and Kevin's supervisor and what store number they worked at. The whole thing was a prosecutor's wet dream.

Why hadn't Richard written anything down about their wariness of each other?

Maybe it hadn't seemed pertinent to the case. There was a note that Reed had known Elle Saunders in high school, but not one indicating they'd nearly fought in her backyard.

 _Maybe,_ his brain supplied, _it's just that he's not a little bitch._

Honestly, the idea of ever having a partner that could put up with his particular brand of professionalism had never crossed his mind. It just hadn't seemed possible. Rodriguez had been the closest he'd ever come, right up until it turned out he was virulently homophobic. God, those first six hours had been great. But Reed wasn't there to baby-step a borderline white supremacist down the long road toward being a passably decent person.

He remembered the knock-down, drag-out fight he'd had with Fowler over it. God, there was no forgetting it. Fowler had been _disappointed_ and _angry_ and a whole bunch of other shit Reed didn't care about because he knew -- _knew_ \-- that no matter what happened, Rodriguez was officially gonna get off with just a slap on the wrist. Well, if Gavin Reed was good at anything, it was imposing consequences. Four knuckle-stitches later he'd spent an hour in Fowler's office getting dressed down, silently fuming, knowing he should let it go if he wanted to get out of that room without a write-up.

Until Fowler had gone and started a fresh wave of his tirade with, _Did you do anything to make him say that?_

 _You ever ask me that again,_ he'd replied, voice measured and deadly quiet, _and I'm gonna need four more stitches._

And yeah, Fowler had flipped his fucking lid, but when Anderson came in to break up the ensuing shouting match, their captain backed down. Apologized, even, when Anderson told him what he'd done.

Turned out Fowler, through whatever weird straight people magic they managed to do that, hadn't known he was gay. He'd thought Reed was just baiting the guy. He promised he'd have Reed's back on that particular issue from then on.

Which was great, because Reed had meant it about the stitches.

He couldn't look through the notes anymore without hearing the words in Richard's smooth, matter-of-fact voice. Somehow, it was grating. The information itself was lost in the confusion and he was left with nothing but an unexplainable fluttering in his stomach and an overly warm face. The sensation was terribly familiar, but -- he couldn't summon a name for it.

He sent the link to the digital file to his phone and got up to go on a coffee run.

Traffic was terrible. After nearly a decade and a half he should have known not to come out during lunch time. As he neared his usual coffeeshop, he could see the source of the jam: rubbernecking around a crime scene. For an awful moment his blood stopped pumping, his brain prematurely convinced it was another murder-probably-kidnapping to add to their stack. But, no, just a typical domestic. He sighed his relief.

Okay, maybe _that_ was a desensitized reaction. Maybe having an android partner wasn't so bad. Richard wouldn't judge him for not getting all emotional. Probably.

_Really? You'll fuck one, but working with one is somehow too far?_

_That was different,_ he insisted to himself, not sure who he was trying to convince. He parked and got in line, because of course there was a line exactly when he didn't want to be alone with his thoughts. _I was drunk._

_Maybe for the first three hours, but not the marathon after that._

_What does it matter?_

The thought took both sides of his internal struggle by surprise.

 _Seriously. What the fuck does it matter? I wanted it. He definitely wanted it. God, did he ever want it._ Just then his phone went off in his pocket, signaling the completed background check he was waiting for.

_Well. Speak of the devil._

The completed report for all fifty states was clean as a whistle. Of course it was. Jack had barely had _time_ to get into any trouble, and even if he had, he just didn't seem like that kind of guy. Just for kicks, Reed sent another request -- this one for Richard's background. Why the hell not, right?

He was so lost in thought, he missed the call for his order at the handoff. Not that such a thing was unheard of. It was a coffeehouse -- _his_ coffeehouse. It was the one place he could relax, as long as his back was to a wall. Besides, the long-term employees all recognized him on sight and treated him with respect. Probably because none of them actually knew him. It was nice.

He snapped out of his daze when one of them carefully placed his cup on the table he'd wound up at. Kevin. It was Kevin.

"You mind if I sit down?"

"You brought me caffeine," Reed replied. "As far as I'm concerned, you have carte blanche to do anything you want."

Kevin nervously sank into a chair. "So, uh, there's something I forgot to tell you when you came in before."

Reed's interest was piqued. "You want a lawyer first?"

"No, I just -- I have Naomi's voicemail password. I didn't listen to any of them, but I -- I just wonder if there's anything in there that might help you guys find her."

"That's good thinking," Reed said calmly, taking the slip with the credentials. Secretly, he was elated. "We'll take a look."

"Is there -- do you have any leads?"

"I really can't talk about it. I'm sorry. All I can tell you is that we're working on it." He handed Kevin one of his business cards. "But if you think of anything else, you can just send me a message. It'll stay confidential."

"You and Richard are both working on the case, right?"

"Yeah."

Kevin looked a little more assured. Well, whatever helped him sleep at night.

Reed took his coffee and returned to the station so he could return to the tedium of entering the information for the Mason case.

He couldn't get the hope in Kevin's eyes out of his head. The human element was always the hardest thing for Reed to deal with. The poor kid just wanted his friend back. This was probably the worst thing he'd ever been through. 

Reed entered the information slowly, lost at sea in his own thoughts. _What if that was Tina? What if Tina never came back from that stupid vacation?_

What if.

The idea made him sick. The two cigarettes he chainsmoked behind the building quelled the nausea enough for him to complete the report. _No drinks tonight,_ he sent Tina, and went to clock out with a heaviness smothering his heart. Instead, he silenced his phone and stopped by a liquor store on his way home. Whiskey never hurt anyone, right?

 _No,_ he decided, _only people hurt other people._

He took the whiskey straight to his refrigerator, poured a sizeable measure in half a glass of pop, and went off to shower. He nursed the drink to emptiness as he waited for the water to heat up to something a little more temperate than dick-shrivelingly cold. A long, hot shower could cure everything that wasn't the human condition.

Reed lost track of time, as he tended to do with hot evening showers. His only indicator as to the passage of time was the darkness outside the bathroom window and the fair buzz rolling under his skin, turning him sleepy and loose-jointed. He gave the towel a perfunctory run over his legs to keep the worst of the water from running all over the floor.

He crossed his apartment naked, rubbing his towel through his hair. The air was brisk. Weirdly fresh. Maybe he'd left a window cracked.

Richard was in his kitchen, hip casually leaned on the counter, reading a magazine. He lifted his head, seeming absolutely unperturbed at Reed's lack of clothes.

"JESUS," Reed shouted, yanking the towel off his head and using it to shield his dick.

"Sorry to stop in on you so late, Detective--"

"What the _fuck_ are you doing in my apartment?" His heart was thumping wildly against his ribs. 

And Richard was staring intently at the space just to the left of his sternum, watching his heart vibrate in his chest. "I called you," he said absently. Absently? "You didn't answer."

Reed retreated and awkwardly rearranged the towel so it was wrapped around his waist. No use standing there with his ass out. "And just how the _ever loving fuck_ did you get in?"

"You keep your spare keys in your desk. I'm sorry," Richard said abruptly, "is this a breach of privacy?"

"You better fucking believe it," Reed snapped. "Now you're gonna wait here and _not move_ while I go put pants on."

He didn't return until he got his heart rate back down to a level medical science didn't deem indicative of an impending heart attack. Richard was right where he'd left him. A pleasant surprise, honestly.

"Now tell me what the hell was so important you had to break and enter instead of just texting. Or knocking."

"I did knock. Detective, are you drunk?"

"Nah."

Richard frowned doubtfully, but pressed on. "I wanted to talk to you about the kidnappings."

"Isn't today your day off? Didn't we talk about you getting a hobby?"

"I'm still working on that. Right now, work is my hobby."

"Gross." He fidgeted with the zipper of the hoodie he'd thrown on. Richard's eyes followed his fingers and made him self-conscious he hadn't put a shirt on underneath. "So what is it that's got you all wound up?"

"I'm sure you already know that deviant androids cannot be tracked by their embedded GPS chips."

"Sure. Deviating orphans the locator chip itself by deleting the pathway or something, right?"

Richard nodded. "A self-preservation measure, obviously. But the software responsible for connecting to the network and making phone calls uses a different device."

"So, what, ping them and see if they made any phone calls?"

"There should be a record of their attempt to access the network."

"Yeah? What if they used a regular cell phone?"

"You surely don't think the kidnapper, or kidnappers, would let them keep their cell phones."

"Nah." Reed poured himself another drink. Richard had absolutely scared him most of the way sober. "You know, assuming they were kidnapped and not killed is... really optimistic, considering."

"Is that a problem?"

"Depends on how you handle it if you're wrong." Reed swirled the tumbler and knocked back its contents. Richard followed his progress with those strange glass-colored eyes. Reed remembered Elijah's book and quickly looked away.

"It bothers me that we don't know how many other murders follow this pattern. People could be disappearing all over the country."

"If it's actually the Sons of the Covenant, that isn't all that likely. They're pretty much just next-gen KKK, but smaller."

"Anti-android sentiment is high enough that I assumed an organized group holding such an attitude would hold great drawing power."

"C'mon, a bunch of poor white ex-factory workers bitching about how the government did 'em wrong? That's just the American way. All the Covenant ever did was put on some church robes and shoot some cops over it." He headed into the living room and dropped onto the couch.

"I'm sorry, _all_ they ever did? Can you elaborate on that?"

Reed shrugged. "I mean, if they'd killed some politicians or some lobbyists, they might have more of a following. But white people love the police. Kill a cop, especially a white cop, and brag about it? Shit, that's the surest way to stop your movement in its tracks."

"So their sentiments are unpopular?"

"No, _really_ popular. That's the problem. They're just too extremist for most people to, you know, slap up bumper stickers for. They shot themselves in the foot with that stunt, so now they're pretty much on house arrest."

"Until now."

"I can't think of a better time for them to try to get a foothold again than right after the smoke has cleared. Do it quiet, leave your calling card so that those who sympathize know how to find you..."

Richard sat down on the other end of the couch. "We could go to the media."

"No, attention is exactly what they want."

Richard nodded thoughtfully. After a moment, he turned his head to look Reed in the eye. "Lieutenant Anderson says you hate androids."

"Lieutenant Anderson needs to keep his fat mouth shut," Reed muttered. 

"I'm trying to figure out what I'm dealing with here, Detective. I've spent time with you in person, but I also have access to Connor's memories prior to deviation."

That was... absolutely creepy. Reed made a face. "You just -- watched his memory like a fucking YouTube video? Is that it?"

"I asked his permission," Richard coolly replied. "Because I didn't want to overstep. He shared them willingly."

"So, again, you just watched his memories like a fucking YouTube video."

"Not everything you can't understand has to be a cosmic event, Detective."

Reed took his empty glass back into the kitchen to pour a fresh drink, heavier on the whiskey this time. "It's exactly that shit that freaks me out. It's like I don't have any privacy."

"What, just because you can be held accountable for your actions? If you don't like the way people react to the things you do, then don't do them."

"But it is like a YouTube video."

"It is and it isn't. I could play them on a smaller screen, but the immersive experience of playing them back on my own processor is much more... informative."

"And?"

"And I didn't like what I saw. You were violent. Hair-trigger. The only thing he did to set off your temper was exist."

"He wasn't a fucking person, all right? He was a computer with a face. Asimov's fucking bastard child, and I'm supposed to just... what, let him take my goddamn desk?"

"I'll concede that you had no way of knowing he was a person. With flaws. Just like you."

"He's not _just like me._ He's a nosy suck-up."

"You're supposed to be on the same team. Get your attitude under control."

Reed stood over the couch with his drink, unwilling to sit back down. If Richard decided he was going to pick now to snap, he was gonna need as much of an advantage as possible.

"If you don't wanna work with me, you can fuck right back off to the east coast."

"I said I didn't like what I saw. What I'm _seeing_ is something different."

"Look, Richard, I don't know what the fuck that means."

"I think you would if you just thought about it."

"You're bad at flirting," Reed said dismissively.

Richard hiccuped on a breath he didn't need to take. "I'm not--"

Reed broke up in laughter that sent him swaying back onto the couch. "I'm yanking your chain, John Henry," Reed reassured him. 

Richard straightened up, stern scowl sinking back into place right on schedule. Dim lamplight illuminated one side of his face; a light post at the edge of the property splashed the other side with perfectly parallel stripes of bright and shadow. It was a good look for him. It highlighted the symmetry of his face, the crest of his brow, the way his cheekbones cast gentle shadows on his face, angled inward to frame his mouth, and _what the fuck am I doing staring at him like he's dinner?_

And Richard was staring right back, intensely, none of that aloof supercomputer veneer clouding his expression.

Reed swallowed, tongue feeling thick and stupid in his mouth, blocking his ability to speak. Heat rose slowly in his face. It threatened to show even in the dim light of his poorly lit living room.

"So," he said, voice low and unintentionally husky.

Richard's eyes fell to his mouth. Reed automatically wet his lips with his tongue. Richard did the same thing: the tiniest, brightest swipe of pink broke the hard line of his mouth.

"You done reading me the riot act, or did you have something else for me?"

There was a pause. It felt -- _meaningful,_ somehow. Loaded. Maybe that was just the whiskey. Richard took his time answering. It wasn't simple hesitation. The LED at his temple gently, gently flickered, a beacon in the darkness.

"Good night, Detective," he finally said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

And with no further preamble he got up and simply walked out the door. It latched shut behind him with a quiet _click._

Reed didn't dare to breathe again until he heard the closure of a car door directly outside his apartment.

"Fuck," he murmured, slumping sideways on the couch. For a few silent moments he watched the ceiling spin above him, powered by the heat sliding through his veins.

_He even locked the fucking door._

Reed shook his head and closed his eyes against the swirl of the room. It took him a solid block of intangibly cascading time to realize that he was absently palming and squeezing his hard dick through his sleep pants. Why was he hard? Nothing even happened. Nothing _happened._

He withdrew and tucked his hand behind his head to more effectively curtail the inexplicable urge to rub one out to the idea of his work partner sitting on his couch in the dark, eyes rock steady, just out of his reach. He turned his face into the couch cushions and huffed, sinking into the warmth there.

But he had no control over what direction his dreams took.

And when he woke up in the middle of the night, overwarm and disoriented by unexpected jolts of pleasure and the hot slide of come over his fingers, he could slink with his tail between his legs to wipe up in the bathroom and just pretend he had control over remembering it ever happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> those rk models really are just engineered for breaking and entering, huh...
> 
> so we're finally getting into some feels instead of just setup! thanks for sticking with me. i'm definitely one of those bastards that says slow burn and MEANS it.
> 
> here's a link to my [support](https://itsdefinitive.tumblr.com/post/179201182822/support) page ♥ if you requested something from me, keep in mind the final product will be posted there so you don't ever have to go hunting for it.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "C'mon, I'm not going back to the scene of a murder on an empty stomach."
> 
> "Why does it seem like you only care about your well-being when it's incredibly inconvenient?"

_feeling down and dirty, feeling kinda mean_  
_i've been from one to another extreme_  
_this time i had a good time, ain't got time to wait_  
_i wanna stick around till i can't see straight_  
  
(foreigner - double vision)

  


  


Reed knew, of course, that he flirted with a problem with drinking.

He drank alone. He drank with friends. He drank with friends and went home at the end of a long weekend out to enjoy a drink in the dark by himself before bed. He drank after work. And on occasion he would just so happen to show up to work with a hangover. That said, he wouldn't call himself _an alcoholic._ He drank an industry standard amount for a police detective. It wasn't like he was Anderson or something.

But this morning was definitely a dark sunglasses, aspirin, black coffee kind of morning. He made it at home himself so he wouldn't have to brave the fluorescent lighting of the coffeeshop. Then he made sure he rolled in fifteen minutes early so he could appear productive. A little illusion went a long way.

Unfortunately, Richard was already at his desk. _Does that shitbag sleep here or something?_ "Morning," Reed muttered, doing his best not to look over at Richard.

Because what he could remember of his dreams last night, of

_unstoppable weight behind bright hands, cool on his burning skin_

_pale guard-dog eyes demanding his obedience_

_split apart to the point of tears to the rhythm of cycling, flashing blue --_

Reed shook his head and did his best to avoid being in Richard's line of sight. He felt terrible. The last thing he needed was to pop wood at work, stuck at his desk, waiting for the call to go out and investigate another freakshow murder. Sober Reed had no problem rubbing one out in the bathroom on occasion, but Hungover Reed was not trying to sneak down to the locker room's seldom-used stalls with a weapons-grade headache.

“I went over your notes on the Mason case,” Richard started.

“Cool,” Reed said listlessly, flicking through his email for the hundredth time.

“The boyfriend. Colin. Did you get any information about him?”

“Just that they've been dating since some New Year's party. The neighbors over there didn't know anything about the two of them because they didn't want to know.”

"And, of course, no one saw anything."

"How'd you know," Reed said, voice flat with sarcasm.

"Lucky guess."

It was good delivery. Reed didn't even crack the hint of a smile. "Yesterday I pulled all the criminal records for the human victims. They've all been convicted of crimes that had something to do with android rights except for one: Donna Mason."

"Did you check for expungements?"

"Yeah. She's clean as a whistle. I want to think there was some moral code guiding all this shit, but this is throwing me off."

Richard steepled his fingers and looked distantly through his blank desktop monitor. "One break in the pattern isn't necessarily a deviation from intent. Maybe Donna was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"No way. The deaths are too methodical. These people are sending a message. We just don't have a way to decode it yet, that's all."

"You think so?"

"This was ritualistic. These people were sacrificed."

"If you have no proof to substantiate that, then we can get to work on the missing persons. I've analyzed the data we've collected. Apart from the victims being androids, I haven't isolated enough similarities to start determining a pattern."

"Well, there is the big one."

"What's that?"

"All of them were in love with a human."

Richard leaned back in his chair, seemingly impassive, but that LED gave him away. It cycled and spun brighter. "Is that enough to start with? The criteria for love seems... vague."

Reed scoffed. "There's nothing vague about it. Naomi had Lew's last name. Ashley and Taylor lived together. So did Elle and Vivian. There's, you know, a public commitment there."

"So then our criteria is 'observable commitment.'"

"Yeah, sure, whatever." Reed drummed the table, irritated, trying to ignore Richard's inquisitive look. _God. This is my living fucking nightmare._ "We're missing something. We've gotta be."

"Part of what we're missing is any idea where the missing androids are. I tried to pull more credit card statements, but customer service wouldn't talk to me."

"Gotta up that flirt game, Deep Thought." He studiously did not look at Richard. Instead he turned to his computer and started flicking through his work contacts. Safecrackers, informants, arsonists, tax fraudsters, dealers -- his network had to have _something_ that could be of use. Sure, the majority of these guys were scumbags. Most people were. But someone would have something for him, provided he paid well enough.

He settled on a few names and fired off some texts, then sat back to play his favorite game: see who jumped to text back first. He always skipped the desperate first texter and came back to them later. Anyone too willing to give him information wasn't worth the potential trap he was walking to. He had two too many scars from gunshot wounds to prove that particular theory.

"Detective," Richard began again.

"What."

"Is there a reason you're staring at Connor and Lieutenant Anderson?"

"Is there a reason you're not minding your business?"

"You're not minding yours."

He felt his blood surge with the injustice of it all. Of course he wasn't minding his own business, he was a fucking police detective. It was right there in the name. "I'm gonna go smoke," he said shortly.

"I'll go with you. We need to discuss--"

"No, you stay here. I don't just need a cigarette, all right? That's a polite way of saying I need a fucking break."

Richard frowned. The blue-on-blue light show started up again. Reed got up and quickly retreated, barely remembering his sunglasses.

When he came back in, Richard was nowhere to be found.

Reed pretended very convincingly not to give a shit. _That plastic asshole can go wherever the hell he wants,_ he told himself. _I don't need him._ He downed another dose of painkillers and ran himself ragged cross-referencing the arrest records of the victims against every police officer involved.

When Richard finally returned, Reed was in the middle of trying to compose a text message to Jack. Startled at his partner's appearance, he accidentally hit send and quietly cursed. Talk about finishing too early. Oh, well. It could be a worse partial than _Hey, it's Gavin,_ which was exactly why he wasn't supposed to be doing that at work.

He just -- needed the stress relief.

"Lieutenant Anderson just suggested to me that a good course of action might be to check some of the more suburban bars for members of the Sons of the Covenant. I believe he may have been being flippant."

"He's not wrong," Reed said, annoyed that he hadn't thought of it first. There was no way he could take Richard into one of those intolerant hick bars where the clientele had enough resources to vote but not enough brainpower to vote in a way that was actually in their best interest. Not if he wanted to get any real information.

"I'd like to return to the Mason house and have a look for myself."

"Go ahead."

Richard stopped, straightened up. His LED momentarily flickered over to yellow. "Is this your case, or not?"

"Sure. But you did just fine by yourself the other day. Don't see how this would be any different."

The look Richard gave him was neutral, but that _tone._ That fucking tone was just so superior he couldn't stand it.

"When I arrive on a scene first, I know things are being handled correctly. You, on the other hand, have a track record of overlooking the obvious."

"By whose standards, shitbag?"

"By _my_ standards. Obviously."

"I didn't overlook anything just because I can't see evaporated android blood," Reed snapped. 

"If you didn't record it, you overlooked it."

"Overlook this." Reed lazily held up his middle finger.

"Very professional."

"Exactly. So it sounds like you'd do just as well without me getting in your way."

Richard frowned and straightened up. That goddamn circle on his temple blipped yellow again. He looked put out. Reed felt a twinge of what he might have identified as guilt if he ever did any introspection. Instead he called it a vague sense of discomfort. It was enough to push him to his feet and stuff his phone in his pocket. "Fine. I'll go. But I won't like it."

The yellow immediately gave way to blue. Richard turned away. Reed wondered momentarily if he knew that thing on his forehead was a fucking mood ring. He furiously picked up the pace, unwilling to let that plastic son of a bitch lead the way to _his_ car. It was difficult to keep up with Richard's long-legged stride, but years of practice caught him up without looking like he was sprinting to keep up.

"First," he said, dropping into the driver's seat, "I need breakfast." He barely waited for Richard to buckle in before he threw the car into gear and pulled out of the lot, coffee on his mind.

"It's nearly eleven."

"Yeah, but I skipped breakfast. C'mon, I'm not going back to the scene of a murder on an empty stomach."

"Why does it seem like you only care about your well-being when it's incredibly inconvenient?"

"You're just reading into it, Rick." Yellow. _Gotcha,_ Reed thought, smirking.

The lot was crammed full and the mobbed drive-through partially shielded the building from view like some kind of capitalist phalanx. _That's karma, I guess,_ Reed thought, looking around. Maybe there was some kind of event going on. He'd never seen the place that full. The staff was operating double-time, quicker employees darting around slower ones in a complex dance. He grudgingly crammed himself in at the end of the line.

"I'm going to make a few calls," Richard said, but remained standing right there at his elbow.

Reed gave him a funny look. "What do you mean, you -- oh," he grumbled, seeing that Richard's LED was blipping staccato yellow. He was strongly reminded of Morse code. Fine. That was one less five-minute span he had to talk to an oversized adding machine. He fixed his eyes on the menu and zoned out, allowing himself a quick mental break in that familiar space.

Which, naturally, was when his world came crashing down around him.

"Hey there, Officer," a deep, familiar voice purred in his ear. 

Reed nearly bit off his own tongue in his shock. He turned and looked up into Jack's gorgeous black eyes. His face immediately felt warmer. "Hi," he breathed.

Next to him, Richard's LED stilled to grating, unsubtle yellow.

"Got your text," Jack said casually. He slipped his big, clever hands into his hoodie. "Sorry I didn't get back to you."

"It's been half an hour," Reed laughed, immediately drawn in by his charm. _Easy, tiger._ "But I guess I can let it slide."

"Nice turtleneck," he commented. His smile was apologetic. "Let me buy your breakfast?"

"Uh, sure," Reed said. "What are you doing here?"

"Picking up some coffee for my team. About a third of them are humans. Y'all get _cranky_ without your caffeine."

"What's your team do?"

"We're spearheading a political campaign for equal android recognizance under the law, but I don't really want to talk politics in here."

"Fair enough," Reed agreed.

"What are you doing this weekend?"

"I'm--" He froze up a little. _Not doing anything,_ was, of course, an answer. _Definitely hoping you'll invite me over again_ was an equally valid one. But with Richard right there, he felt inexplicably off his game. It was funny. He'd never had any kind of shame in front of any of his work partners before. He wondered --

he _knew,_ actually -- 

\-- what the hang-up was there. 

The silence hung between them long enough for him to place his order. On autopilot, he fished out his debit card, but Jack leaned in close and gently brushed his hands away from the card reader. His fingers caught Reed's rough knuckles and caressed them like they were glass. They were precise. Careful. It sent a shiver up Reed's spine at the memory of those hands _not_ being gentle. Grabbing. Pressing red marks into his skin. He cleared his throat. 

Jack smiled and tapped his cell phone to the card reader, then used his proximity to direct Reed away from the register. Reed dumbly went. He didn't even remember he was allegedly on the clock until Jack tilted his chin toward Richard, who was standing just far away enough to seem polite. 

"Friend of yours?" 

"Partner -- uh, new work partner." 

"Shit, I didn't mean to, you know..." He reached out to brush his fingertips down Reed's chest, just inside the lapel of his jacket. Just feather-light, nothing more. Just barely grazing his nipple. 

Reed swallowed. 

Jack's fingers stilled, maddeningly, right overtop of Reed's thudding heart. Their coolness pressed into the overwarmth of his body, in the dip below his pectoral. "...distract you." 

"Don't flatter yourself. I have amazing focus," Reed bluffed, as though his pulse hadn't doubled. 

Jack just smiled. "Don't worry. I remember." 

"Well, I. Saturday," it was downright impossible to string words together, he sounded like an _idiot, get it together you dumb mother fucker,_ "I work on Saturday, but after that..." 

"Still have my address?" 

Reed cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah." 

"Text me Saturday when you're on your way over," Jack replied. He removed his hand from the interior of Reed's jacket and put it on his shoulder. He looked Reed in the eye and slid that hand down, down, down to his forearm and gave it a promising squeeze. "Hey, but my order's up. I gotta get back to the office." 

And with that, he let go and disappeared into the crowd. Reed nearly swayed on his feet. His skin tingled pleasantly where Jack had touched it, even through the layers of leather and cotton. He was distantly aware of the color rising in his face and the swirl of heat chasing itself around his stomach. 

He absolutely could not believe he was standing in a public place in the middle of the day, dick shoving against the back of his fly with enough insistence to make him wish he'd followed Jack back out to that fucking silver Nissan and -- 

"Detective," Richard was insistently saying, looking annoyed. 

" _What,_ " he seethed back. 

"Your order is ready." 

"You could have grabbed it for me." 

"I could have," Richard agreed. "But I'm not your assistant." 

Reed shoulder-checked him on his way to snatch his order up from the hand-off plane, then turned on his heel and stormed straight for the door. He only looked back when the frigid March air whisked through his clothes and cut some of the poorly-timed arousal out of his form. 

Richard was right on his heels. 

"I don't know what your problem is, Detective," he said, spitting Reed's title like it left a bad taste on his tongue, "and I don't really care--" 

"Great." 

"Shut up." 

Reed scowled up at him, protectively maneuvering so his coffee was between them. "What the hell crawled up your ass?" 

"It couldn't possibly be your behavior." 

"God, please get _over_ it. I'm not gonna be a good boy and fall in line for you." 

"I need you to know," Richard said, "that I don't have the same level of patience that Connor does." 

"Okay, and?" 

"Well," said Richard, planting his hip on the driver side door of Reed's car, effectively blockading it, "we both know how well you handled it when Connor lost his patience with you." He folded his arms, looking like he'd settled in for the long haul. 

"I was off my game," Reed huffed, scowling at the six-foot dumbass that clearly thought he had the upper hand. He went around to the passenger side and manually unlocked the door. In one smooth motion he swung into the car, deposited his breakfast in the central cupholders, and climbed over them into the driver's seat. 

Richard was staring at him with what was very possibly disbelief. 

Reed slid the key into the ignition and rolled the window down half an inch. "I give as good as I get, asshole, so don't forget it." 

Richard looked down at him, visibly composing himself, and Reed felt his stomach flip-flop at the echo of his dream the night before. 

They both waited for the other to move, to do something, to say something. Anything. Their standoff was finally interrupted by Richard holding up a hand, LED flashing yellow. 

He rounded the car to the passenger side and got in, sitting in silence for a moment. "The Sweeley house burned to the ground this morning," Richard finally said. 

"Fuck," Reed muttered. "Hey, can you _not_ take phone calls on silent? It's fucking unsettling." 

"I'll take that under advisement," Richard said. He watched in fascination as Reed juggled the tasks of eating, drinking, shifting gears, and using his phone as a GPS. "Why don't you turn on the autopilot?" 

"No autopilot." 

"How old is this car?" 

"First of all, it's a _classic._ Secondly, there are plenty of new cars that don't have autopilot, and that's because there are plenty of _people_ that don't want it. If I'm gonna get in a car wreck it's gonna be because I fucked up, not because some idiot techie in San Francisco didn't play enough Red Light / Green Light as a kid." 

"You do realize this car is absolutely filled to the brim with computers." 

"Autostick transmission," Reed replied smugly. "I can drive manually whenever I want. Like, _actually_ drive manually." Huh. Maybe he did say 'like' more than he thought he did. 

Richard shook his head. "That's so unnecessarily controlling. I could have driven, you know." 

"I don't like when other people drive. Makes me carsick." They pulled up alongside the smoking husk that used to be Elle Sweeley's house. Reed plunked his food garbage in his empty cup. " _Don't_ just go into the goddamn house this time." 

"Why not?" 

"Don't you know jack shit about arson? You can't just go poking around in there. The whole thing could come down on top of you at any time. There's no way to tell how stable it is." 

"Except that I can do a realtime scan of the building and determine for myself how stable it is." 

"Yeah, except there's no reason for you to go in there, you fucking showoff. I already went back through there after casing Donna Mason's house." 

"The day we met, you told me not to just accept what I'm told at face value." 

"I was absolutely not talking about me." 

"There are no downsides to checking. It may even illuminate something about the arson itself." 

"Fine, go in there, see if I care." Reed got out of the car and immediately flicked a match to life for a cigarette. That bastard was already driving him crazy. 

But when Richard got out of the Charger, it wasn't to approach what was left of the blaze. No, he came around to Reed's side of the car, putting the vehicle between them and the house, and just stood quietly, waiting. 

"Thought smoke offended your delicate sensibilities," Reed said after a long, comfortable silence. 

"In enclosed spaces." 

"Jesus, it's like working with Monk." 

"You're sucking down poison, Detective. There's nothing in that particular cocktail that it's wise for my sensors to interact with. Besides, your physical performance suffers because of them." 

"Excuse me? You wanna run that by me again?" 

Richard looked down at him, sidelong, head tilted back exactly a haughty number of degrees above center. "Your shitty smoking habit is slowing you down." 

"Fuck you," Reed calmly retorted. He watched the house smolder. "Where's that goddamn arson guy?" 

"The investigator?" 

"Well, I sure as fuck don't mean the guy that set the fire. Hey, is thirium flammable?" 

"No, it's flame-resistant." 

"Damn. Well, go see if any of the responding officers have made contact with the arson team." 

Richard was perplexed. "You want me to do it?" 

"Wouldn't want to bother anyone with my smoking," Reed sneered. 

Without another word, Richard left his side. His footfalls were nearly silent, even on the crunchy March slush, his six-foot frame pantherlike. He didn't spare a glance at the fire or even seem bothered by the latent heat. It was unsettling. Richard walked the perimeter of the smoking house, staring up at it in concentration. 

Reed found himself wondering what he saw. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket, breaking his focus. Tina, probably. He checked his phone and, sure enough, she was asking him to go for drinks later. _What, again?_ He shook his head. _What's up with her? Right. Jordan._ He chewed on his lip, thinking. _Was I this bad my last breakup? They were together a couple years, though. I guess it makes sense that she's still this upset about it._

It was hard for him to gauge. His break-ups were always so ugly. 

_Maybe,_ he texted back. _Depends on what time I get off._

_get here early enough and you can get off whenever you want!_

_Gross._ He grinned.

Richard was suddenly by his side again. It scared the shit out of him -- made his blood run cold. He kept his reaction under control, but he could tell by the look on Richard's face that he knew he'd gotten the drop on him.

"The fire team says I can go in the house," he said.

"You? Not both of us?"

Richard shrugged. "Their commander said the air quality was too low for you to go in."

"Got a smoke mask in the trunk." Reed popped the trunk open and started rummaging through it for his emergency kit.

"What about the building's structural integrity?"

"If it's safe enough for you to walk around in, it's safe enough for me."

"They said you ought to stay behind."

"Who exactly said that?" Reed unearthed himself from the trunk, particulate respirator swinging freely from his hand, and looked over his shoulder suspiciously.

"Officer Chambers."

"Chambers? Mike Chambers?"

"Yes."

Reed felt his stomach drop through the frozen ground. He slammed the trunk lid shut. "Oh, cool. Then I'm definitely going with you."

"I'm sorry?"

But Reed was already on his way up the walk, yanking the respirator into place, pressing past the startled arson squad. He could feel Richard just a few paces behind him, but he knew that fucking android wouldn't sacrifice his air of professionalism just to stop him.

"Yo, Reed," Chambers called, and Reed hid the surge of victory he felt at the poorly-guarded panic in Chambers' eyes.

"Hey, buddy, just gonna check something out. I got places to be." 

"Wait--"

But it was too late. Reed passed the cautionary barrier and ducked under a beam that had fallen across the front doorway, partially blocking it. The silence was immediate. The air was thick and awful, and Reed felt grime immediately coat his exposed skin. Ugh. That was exactly why he had the integrated mask with the eye shield. He was already going to be scrubbing soot out of his hair for days.

"Detective," Richard called from the doorway. He remained as if glued to the floor there, just inside, looking up at the exposed beams with trepidation. Firebrands floated through the air. They landed harmlessly on the walls, the brunt of their damage long done. "It isn't safe here."

"It's not safe anywhere," Reed said dismissively, even as the ceiling let out an ominous crack and a tired sigh of black heat. "C'mon. I gotta see if it's still here." He headed for the stairs.

"This is a very dangerous course of action, Detective Reed, the chances of injury -- or worse --"

"In and out. The longer you talk, the slower you walk." He tested the bottom step with one booted foot, putting his weight closer to the ruined wall than to the center of the beam, and headed up to Elle's bedroom.

To his surprise, Richard was right behind him.

"What could possibly be this important?" His voice was unlabored, but tight with stress, clear as a bell despite the smoke. He followed with footing far more certain than Reed's, but kept his distance. _They let this place burn,_ Reed realized. _But Chambers knows that motherfucker Dobson. I'd bet my fucking life he did this on purpose._

The floor in the upstairs hallway was in terrible condition. Reed was grateful that the bedroom was the first door. He grabbed the doorframe and pointed in at the bed. It took Richard only a few seconds, but it was an uncomfortably long time to spend in the decaying blaze.

It was worth it for the shock on Richard's face when he laid eyes on the bed.

"Same story at the Mason house," Reed said, excited. There was abruptly a deafening snap and the sound of gushing flame devouring its latest victim.

"How did you...? You can tell me when we're out of here." Richard reached for him with startling precision and forcibly marched him down the stairs. Reed struggled momentarily -- Richard was making him forge a path when he could barely see his feet, and he was reminded for an awful swath of time of the basement in his nightmares, where he'd been swallowed alive -- but a sudden blast of heat made him a _lot_ more motivated to get out.

There was the unmistakable sound of something collapsing in on itself behind them as Richard shoved him outside. He didn't stop at the doorway -- his momentum carried both of them down the steps, past the wide-eyed arson squad that was already suiting back up in protective gear -- he didn't stop until they were safely on the front walk, just beyond the arc of flame and smoke that the doorway vomited after them.

And then he didn't let go.

Reed tore the smoke mask off his face and made a solid attempt at wrenching free of Richard's grip. But that bastard had read him too well, had possibly preconstructed every last blow of the beating he had planned for Dobson's little bitch. The grip on his upper arm held Reed in place easily. He was leaned back, away from Reed, but his eyes were trained on Chambers as well. Even though the rest of the fire team had jumped into action, Wells looked like he was rooted to the spot.

"Hey, Mike," Reed called out, voice clear over the chaos. Chambers recoiled from the crazy gleam in his eyes. "You wanna come explain something to me?"

"What's up, Reed," Chambers called, staying conspicuously a good twenty feet away.

"Let me go, Richard," Reed said, low, urgent.

"Absolutely not." Richard's voice was equally quiet, but he may as well not have spoken: his continued unbreakable grasp said it all. It infuriated Reed. Didn't matter that he knew it was better if he _didn't_ get suspended for assault less than a week after taking a new partner. He wanted blood. He sized up Chambers and spit on the ground between them.

"Wanna tell me why you just tried to kill my partner, Mike?"

The fear on Chambers' face was only compounded by the anger he tried to put up as a front. "I didn't try to kill your fucking android, Reed! Those things can take care of themselves."

"Man, don't fucking lie to me, Mike. It's pathetic."

Chambers spread his hands wide, confidence bolstered now that he saw Richard wasn't going to let Reed pounce on him. "C'mon, you know it's true. You know how many good men I saw get trampled during those protests?"

"How about you tell me how many?"

"Eye for an eye, you piece of shit traitor."

Reed felt his hand stray to the butt of his gun.

He felt Richard grab his wrist before he could follow through.

He felt blinding fury bubble up in his stomach.

"He's one of your coworkers now, motherfucker! You were just gonna let him go in there and let the house do the work, huh?"

"Nothing even happened, Detective," one of the other assholes said. "Let it go."

"Fuck you," Reed said, pointing at each of them in turn. "I'm not gonna fucking forget this." He couldn't physically resist Richard pulling him away, couldn't dig his heels in enough to even slow him down, but he demanded his parting shot. He pointed a finger at Chambers. "Say hi to Dobson for me, shitbag!"

He felt Richard react behind him, even as he pulled him back to the car and shoved him into the passenger seat. "Hey--"

"You aren't driving," Richard said bluntly. "We are going to leave and when I stop the car you are going to explain yourself."

That bastard had his keys. When did he--

Richard slammed the passenger door shut. Reed furiously folded his arms over his chest and silently waited. He didn't speak until Richard smoothly cranked the engine. "Leave it in automatic."

He really expected Richard to drive like a pro chauffeur, but he was actually bordering on awkward. His turns were too wide. His foot was heavy on the gas, heavier on the brake. It was like he --

 _\--was designed to drive shit like tanks,_ Reed realized. And Reed had gone and pissed him off.

Perfect.

Richard only drove few dozen blocks or so, clearly uncomfortable with the task, before he cut the engine and unceremoniously tossed the keys in Reed's lap. "Out," he said.

"It's _my car._ " But Richard was already getting out, and Reed did _not_ want to get dragged out of his own car while still powering through the dregs of a hangover, so he followed suit. He hadn't been paying attention to their surroundings. They were in the back lot of a grocery store that had long since been closed down. There was no apparent foot traffic. The choice of venue seemed deliberate.

"You want to tell me what the hell that was about?"

"Which part?"

"Why don't we start with you rushing into a burning-down house because you were told not to?"

"I--" He couldn't think of a way to put it so that bastard would _understand._ "I don't have to answer to you," he finally said.

Richard's eyes flashed. "Yes. You do."

"Chambers didn't want me going in there because he'd already decided the house was going to collapse."

"So you, and I reiterate, ran into a burning-down house."

"He wanted you to be the one that went in. Are you not getting that? He just tried to kill you, man. He wanted you to go in there without me so the house would come down around you."

"So you _went in?_ Detective, that was stupid. It was suicidal."

"I don't play those fucking games. Nobody takes anything away from me."

The silence was thick. Tense. Richard's face remained perfectly neutral, but like the mid-afternoon sun burning above him, his LED slid between yellow and red, yellow and red. He swallowed. Reed knew he didn't need to. He took in air Reed knew he didn't need to take in and the breath Reed knew he didn't need to take hitched as he visibly framed and reframed and reframed what he was trying to get out.

"I'm not your android," he quietly said.

Reed snorted dismissively. "Yeah, I know. If you were, you'd listen to me."

"If you have something to say, say it."

"I didn't want a partner," he snapped. "At all. Not a human one, not an android one. Sure as hell not some smartmouth motherfucker that's gonna show me up at every opportunity and try to force himself into my personal business!"

"Get over yourself, Detective. I know thinking is a rough ride for you, but I refuse to babysit your personal hang-ups."

"Fuck you." His heart pounded in his ears.

"You are so hostile," Richard said, shaking his head. He looked stressed, that perfect facade slowly crumbling, the simulated fine lines around his eyes crinkling with anger.

"You're the one that showed up in _my_ life, at _my_ job, and turned everything shithouse fucking crazy, okay?" Reed was distantly aware he'd raised his voice. "I don't want anything to do with this shit. I don't want to care about this shit!"

"You can quit any time, Detective. Maybe transfer laterally to somewhere a little more _user friendly._ "

"I'm not going _anywhere,_ shit heel!"

"Or take a job in politics, since you like to run your mouth so much."

"I've had enough of your shit, you know?" Reed could feel his temper running away without him. "Can't wait for them to box you back up and send you the fuck back to Washington."

Apparently, that was the line.

Richard snatched him up by the collar. Unlike the first time, when he'd yanked Reed flush against him, he held him with an iron grip at a distance that made Reed's blood burn with the magnetism of it. Reed struggled to keep his weight on the ground, but Richard was inhumanly strong. He effortlessly kept Reed swaying scant inches over the asphalt. 

And his LED burned scarlet.

"What do I have to do for you to see me as an asset?" Richard was shouting. It was the loudest Reed had ever heard him. "What do I have to do for you to see me as a person? Just tell me what the hell you _want_ from me!"

They stood that way for a long moment that felt like it spiralled outside of time. 

Richard finally, finally released him.

"I think I hate you," he said, voice faint. He sounded dizzy.

Reed turned his best shitbag bad-cop sneer on him. "Join the club."

_Hit me. Hit me, mother fucker._

"Yeah," said Richard, choking on an aborted laugh, "I'll be the treasurer, since you're already the president. Your level of self-loathing is just _extraordinary._ "

Reed jolted forward like a junkyard dog at the fence, but stopped himself short. He wanted to _savor_ this. His breath was already coming quicker. Like tagging someone's shoulder in a bar and heading toward the men's room with the confidence they'd follow, or finally snapping the handcuffs on someone he'd been chasing on foot, Richard was sparking hunger in his blood like he was standing over a kerosene can with a Zippo.

And Reed liked it hot.

He stared into those colorless artistic-rendering eyes and smiled. Toothy. Ugly. Something between them abruptly shifted. The air went upside-down. The air went out of Reed's lungs.

Suddenly Richard was on him. Or, maybe, it was Reed that leapt on Richard. It all happened so quickly he couldn't be sure.

What he did know was that the one-two punch he managed to get in would have dropped a human man to his knees in agony from the lateral strike to the jaw. Instead of quick victory, though, he earned a heavy-handed pop in the mouth. It made him reel back and see double.

He took it back. He took it all back.

Nothing that could throw a punch like that was a machine.

Richard had him by the lapel. Hit him in the mouth again. Again. Blood flooded his senses and spilled thickly down his chin. He ducked his head and lunged, breaking Richard's hold on his jacket, and headbutted like a cobra strike -- sharp, venomous. 

He heard Richard grunt. Pain. 

They stumbled apart.

Reed needed the wall to get his balance. When he looked up, Richard was gingerly stemming the river of thirium gushing from his nose. It was obviously broken.

"You -- fuck you," Richard informed him. "Shit."

That made Reed abruptly howl with laughter. "Fuck me? Fuck _you!_ Don't start something you can't finish!"

"You just knocked half my analysis sensors offline," Richard snapped. "Unlike you, I actually use my head for work."

Reed spat blood and checked his teeth with his tongue. All present and accounted for. "Get over yourself and use your god damn eyes like the rest of us."

"Are you -- did that _calm you down?"_ Richard was horrified.

"It's called blowing off some steam." Definite blood on the shirtfront. Well, he knew he wore black for a reason.

"Maybe for that meat based excuse for a processor you pass off as a brain, but frankly, right now, I think I really want to kill you."

"I think I said get a grip, Terminator."

"You are insane. You're really, actually--"

Reed fixed him with a look. It must have been something, blood all inside his mouth and down his neck, thirium splattered on his forehead, because Richard stopped talking fast.

"You're freaking out because deep down, you're just as bloodthirsty as I am. You just thought you were above all that."

"I'm not bloodthirsty." Richard folded his arms around his chest as if to ward off the cold. "You're just maladjusted."

"Any job in the world, and you pick soldier? Bottom line, those are always stone cold frontline killers."

"That's what I was programmed for."

"It sure the fuck is. Gotta say, I didn't think you had it in you." Reed spit again, turning the greying snow at his feet a grisly pink. "Well, welcome to the real thing. It's a load of shit and your realtime cognitive sparring simulator's got nothing on actual interaction with another person."

The blood wasn't slowing down. God, Richard got him good. There was blood on the ground, on Richard's knuckles, on Reed's sleeve where he tried to blot his face clean, but he felt good about it. He checked his reflection in the car window. His mouth was busted open again, top and bottom lip, in a nearly continuous vertical line. It might scar. It might not. He flicked out a cigarette and lit it from one hard, burning suck that pulled the cherry halfway down to the filter. His exhale was shuddering. Sated.

Richard was silent.

"C'mon," Reed grunted, indicating the car. "You drive. I definitely got a concussion."

Richard stared at him in open disbelief, but caught the keys when they were thrown. He adjusted the seat while Reed miserably dragged his aching carcass around to the passenger side and dug in the glovebox for napkins. He thrust a few at Richard.

"Truce," he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! black friday kicked my ass but i have returned with an extra long chapter to make up for it.
> 
> i also finished [an art](https://itsdefinitive.tumblr.com/post/180327700537/request-september-huh-cant-wait-for-not) for one of my lovely ko-fi patrons! you can find out how to put in your own request, or support me otherwise, [here](https://itsdefinitive.tumblr.com/post/179201182822/support). 
> 
> by the way i just need y'all to know you leave the BEST comments a boy could dream of. they seriously make my day. if y'all ever wanna chat feel free to hit me up on tumblr ([@itsdefinitive](http://itsdefinitive.tumblr.com)) or discord (itsdefinitive#6426). okay bye!!!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're right-handed. This care was applied with a left-handed bias."
> 
> "First of all, I'm ambidextrous." He took a small measure of joy from the approximation of surprise on Richard's face. "Yeah. I'm an anomaly. Jot _that_ down."

_sometimes you break a finger on the upper hand_  
_think you got me confused for a better man_  
__  
(them crooked vultures - new fang)  


  


  


  


They rode back to Reed's apartment in silence. 

Reed stayed leaned over in the passenger seat, letting his mouth and nose drip blood freely onto the vinyl floor liner. He chanced a few glances over at Richard, wondering if he should say something, but Richard's eyes remained trained on the road despite the river of dark blue that snaked down under his chin and dripped, wet but slow, loud in the quiet, onto his ruined shirtfront.

The lot was empty, thank god, and Richard parked the Charger in Reed's usual spot. He offered Reed the keys, but Reed spread his blood-sticky palms in front of him helplessly and jerked his chin at the door.

Yellow.

_Good._

For some reason, thinking that shot a twinge through his stomach.

Richard opened the door and stood back from it so Reed could go in. Reed swept by him, coughing quietly, clearing his throat of saliva thick with blood. But Richard stayed put in the threshold like a fucking vampire. "You coming, or what?"

"I--"

"You look like a botched murder. Get in here and clean yourself up."

Richard cautiously entered and looked around as if he hadn't been inside at his own leisure just the other night. Reed ignored him and turned away, peeling off his jacket and dumping it on the couch. He'd take care of the blood on it later. He was abruptly exhausted. The adrenaline draining away left him with the kind of throbbing headache that could only be achieved by being hit in the face. His sweater went next, with some difficulty, a strange dizziness overtaking him as he pulled it over his head. It took him a moment to remember he was concussed. He pitched the sweater, stiff with his own drying blood, into the washing machine.

He could feel Richard's eyes on him. He had no idea why it made his skin tingle like fingers were brushing his bare back. "Just stick yours in with mine," he said, heading into his bedroom.

"I don't have anything else to wear."

Mindful of the blood on his hands, Reed dug out an overlarge white shirt left behind by his last ex and reemerged to pointedly plunk it on the arm of the couch. He didn't look at Richard; he just went straight to the shower. "Bathroom's back here," he called back down the hallway. "But I guess you already knew that."

"What are you doing?"

"Well, I'm covered in fucking soot, and _somebody_ Hulked out on my face so hard everything smells like a fucking penny factory, so I was gonna shower. And you don't need to go around with blueberry syrup all over your shirt."

"It'll evaporate eventually."

"Shut up and wash your fucking shirt, dude." Reed ditched his pants and cut the water on. He slowly, lazily scrubbed at his hair. There was something about a fight that slowed down time afterward and left the inside of his head echoing and cold, like a tile room. He let the soap run down his injured face and released a forceful sigh at the sting of it. The mix of soot and blood, grit-grey and horror movie pink, swirled around the drain hypnotically. His arms felt impossibly heavy.

Richard interrupted his lack of thoughts, forcing him back into focus. His voice was somehow not a source of stress where it rang from the open bathroom door. "Detective, I'm legitimately unable to tell whether or not you're still angry."

"You got my blood all over you," Reed said. "Least you could do is call me by name."

"That isn't an answer."

"Who started it?"

"What?"

"The fight."

A long moment of silence passed. The water cut on at the sink. Reed could practically see the yellow glow of Richard's LED. He gingerly touched the knotted split of his lip, the gooey, puffy bust of it, and pushed steadily to express some of the built-up blood.

"I don't -- I don't know," Richard finally said. His voice was disbelieving.

Reed stopped his ministrations and spit again. A gob of vibrant red splattered on the floor of the tub and broke into a thick smear. "What do you mean, you don't know?"

"I mean I'm reviewing the footage and it's." Richard didn't so much _pause_ as he did _stop dead._ "Unclear."

Reed huffed quietly. "Only as good as the equipment that recorded it, huh?"

"It's not my job to provide you with closure, Detective," Richard shot back.

"One of us is supposed to be a walking, talking CCTV, Deep Blue, and it ain't me."

He could hear Richard's quiet scoff just beyond the shower curtain. "You already used that one."

"I'm under duress, man." He finally cut the water and groped blindly for his towel. To his surprise, Richard hadn't left the bathroom. His face was perfect -- good as new. There wasn't a trace of thirium or the barest hint that he'd had his nose crushed under the weight of Reed's forehead. The shirt fit him perfectly, because of course it did; he'd chosen to push up the sleeves, leaving his graceful wrists exposed. Reed averted his eyes as if Richard was the one standing around naked but for a towel. "Shower's all yours," he muttered.

"I don't need it."

"You don't?"

No, he didn't. Upon further review, it was obvious that he was clean -- like he'd never gone into the burning house at all. Maybe he'd washed in the sink, or maybe it had something to do with his synthetic skin. For the strangest moment, Reed felt pity for him. Maybe it was a hell of a place to jump to while standing in a towel in front of his work partner, but... he couldn't imagine not having his life leave a physical mark on him, proving his existence, proving his survival. He couldn't imagine spending the night with someone and not feeling the evidence of the exertion the next day. He could still feel Jack's hands on him, could still see the fading bruises peppered across his thighs, on his arms, up his back.

It occurred to him that Richard could see them, too. He could probably see the ones that had faded. He had to see _something._

Because he was staring.

His light eyes were focused intently just beneath the center of Reed's chest. Reed could feel water beading there and trailing downward, streaking dark hair into darker lines. But more than that, he could feel Richard's intense, apparently-less-than-Kodak stare burning into his skin --

"Move," Reed grunted, jerking his chin toward the door.

Richard silently turned away and backed out of his space, but the half-second glance of him that Reed caught proved his LED had jumped back over to yellow. Reed pressed by him and went straight to his bedroom to get dressed.

And this time, he shut the god damn door.

He came back out a few minutes later, scrubbed towel-dry and in fresh clothes, to Richard sitting on his couch. It was surreal, to say the least. Reed couldn't count the number of times he had come back out of his bedroom, fresh from a shower, to a man waiting for him on his couch. But the strange deja vu was eliminated entirely when Richard turned to look at him despite the quiet with which he approached. Unlike the open, eager aggression he was used to being met with, Richard's eyes were critical. Guarded. Like he didn't know whether or not Reed was going to jump on him for another round.

"You shouldn't go back to work, Detective."

Reed snorted. "I'm not. I have a splitting fucking headache."

"I shouldn't have hit you like that. I'm sorry."

"Fuck off. As far as you know, I hit you first."

Richard nodded his agreement, but hesitated. His next words were careful. "No matter what, you deserved to get hit, but..."

"But what?"

"I kept going," Richard said simply. "I -- lost control. I could have seriously hurt you. That's why I'm apologizing."

"All right," Reed cautiously said, sliding his hands into his pockets. "Doesn't mean I'm sorry for headbutting you."

"I didn't apologize to get an apology in return."

"Huh." For some reason that made some of the stress lift off of him and slacken out his shoulders. Richard... wasn't angry. That was unexpected. Interesting, too. Six months ago he would never have even thought an android could _get_ angry. But seeing his partner decide _not to be_ angry... it was...

Unsettling, he decided. Androids were already in a human shape to lull humans into being more at ease around them. It was easy to look at that human shape and assign it human motivations. But their motivations _weren't_ human.

But -- they did _have_ them.

And Richard was patiently watching him, waiting for him to come back to earth. Sitting in his apartment. Driving him home even though they'd gotten into an actual fistfight.

Apologizing even though he didn't have to.

It made something strange and a little warm spread out in his chest. He cleared his throat. "You can go home," he dismissed. "Take the car if you want, whatever, just pick me up in the morning."

"I don't think that's necessary," Richard said carefully.

Dread curled in Reed's stomach. "You're not trying to stay _here,_ are you?"

"Detective--"

"Reed."

Sigh. " _Reed._ You have a concussion. You shouldn't be left alone.”

"I'm not an amateur. I can handle a little discomfort."

"Obviously."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're covered in bruises. You smoke. You get into fights when you don't have to."

"You know, you're _lucky._ I feel like you could have done a lot worse for yourself, as far as secretly handpicking a mentor goes."

Richard looked for a moment like he wanted to argue -- to say _something_ \-- but instead, he genuinely smiled. "You're right," he said. "I suppose I did bring this on myself."

Reed scowled at him. "Get fucked, Richard."

"You know, that's something that's been bothering me for some time now. Do all humans frequently use that as an insult, or just the emotionally repressed ones?"

"You calling me emotionally repressed?"

"I am."

"Listen up, you--"

"I also asked a question, if you don't mind."

"Will you lay the fuck off me? My head is pounding. I want to take some aspirin and sleep this off."

"Oh." _Oh,_ he said, like it genuinely hadn't occurred to him that Reed was in pain. Of course he was in pain. He was practically swaying on his fucking feet. "Do you need anything?"

"Common sense," he said, and tossed Richard his keys off the end table. Of course the bastard caught them effortlessly.

"I'll see you at work tomorrow."

"Yeah, maybe," Reed mumbled, not bothering to hide his exhaustion. "Don't scratch my fucking ride."

With uncanny silence, Richard stood from the couch and headed for the door. Reed watched the stretch of clean white cotton across Richard's manufactured-to-perfection shoulders and turned away before he felt something he'd regret. The door latched shut behind him with a quiet _click._

He listened to Richard pull out of the lot much more smoothly than he'd pulled into it earlier. _Optimization,_ he thought bitterly, wondering if that bastard was learning by feel or if he'd been observing Reed the whole time, absorbing information like a mechanical savant.

"Fuck," he murmured, listening as his engine faded into the distance, swallowed up by afternoon traffic.

He even locked the fucking door.

Reed retreated to his bedroom, took a few Percocet, and buried himself in the center of his cold, empty bed.

\---

_u didn't come back to work???_

That was the message that lit up Reed's phone just after 7, rousing him from sleep. He immediately rolled over and dry-swallowed another Percocet. _Ugh._ It took him a moment to remember why he was in bed when there was still sunlight dying out the window.

 _Long story,_ he sent back. His phone lit up again in seconds.

_tell me over drinks?_

"Tina," he groaned into the semi-darkness. His whole mouth ached, his neck felt like he'd been in a car accident, and she wanted to talk about it over _drinks?_

_I am not leaving my bed for Reasons._

_fun_

_Not fun._  
_You coming over, or what?_

_hell yeah be there in 20_

Reed sat up, scrubbed his hands through his hair to banish some of the bedhead, and wandered groggily back into the living room. He unlocked the door and dropped onto the couch to wait for her. Tina was usually obnoxiously punctual, and it wasn't like anyone else was planning on traipsing through his front door. Except for Richard, but Reed's Charger wasn't in the lot, so there was little danger of that.

Twenty minutes turned into thirty without Reed even noticing, into forty with something in the back of his head clearing its throat in concern, into fifty with annoyed resentment bubbling up. By the time an hour had gone by he had drifted into another round of fitful sleep, so, naturally, that was when Tina pushed his front door open without knocking.

"Hey bitch," she called into the room at large, "where's your car?"

Reed startled from semi-awake to fully-awake. "I let Richard borrow it," he said without thinking, disoriented.

"I'm sorry, you did what?" Tina cut on the lightswitch next to the door. Reed grimaced as it hit him full in the face with brightness. "Jesus _Christ,_ Gav, what the hell did you do this time?"

"Huh? Oh," he said, reaching up and gingerly touching his mouth. The skin there was hot and swollen with blood, oozing out what it couldn't contain. It hurt to speak. He was sure it looked awful. "Got in a disagreement."

"With who, a brick wall?"

"With Richard."

Tina's eyebrows climbed up her forehead. "Uh, you two starting to understand each other a little better?"

"I hate that dumb prick," Reed moaned, flinching when Tina put her cold hands on his face. She laid her palm flat on his forehead until he stilled under her, relaxing.

"So you finally hit him, huh?"

"He hit _me,_ " Reed whined. "Probably. I think. He doesn't know either."

"You're telling me _the android_ doesn't know whether or not you tried to ride him like a mechanical bull."

"Phrasing," he protested. "That isn't what happened. You wouldn't get it, okay?"

"You mean you can't explain it." Tina reached for his mouth. He swatted her hand away, slow, clumsy. She got inside his range, but he didn't have the energy to fight her off.

"Whatever you wanna call it."

"Gavin, usually when I 'wouldn't get it' and you start playing Fight Club with them, you're dating within two months."

"That was one time!"

"Just because you only called it _dating_ the one time doesn't mean it hasn't happened at least half a dozen times. Now shut up and let me see your mouth, you stupid man."

"It's fine."

"Stop talking. You need stitches. Did you even clean this out?"

"Tina, do you--" She dug her thumb into the pressure point on his collarbone with evil precision. He yelped, but wisely fell silent.

"You're lucky I know what to do with you. I know you think you're all badass, but do you actually _want_ this to scar?"

Reed mutely glared up at her.

"Yeah. I thought so. C'mon." She reached under him and hauled him up, guiding him to the bathroom. It threw him for a loop how easily she could move him around. He wasn't light and he was, in fact, being intentionally difficult. Tina plunked him down on the closed toilet lid and cut the lights on.

"What is with you and the god damn lights!"

"I need them to clean up your god damn mess, Professor, 'cause it's me or the urgent care doctor." She busily started rummaging through his cabinets and cobbled together enough supplies to make him start to sweat. Tweezers. Gauze. Alcohol. Surgical suture. "Any last words?"

"Lidocaine's in the top drawer."

"Good boy." She briskly cleaned his mouth off, ignoring his cursing and gritted teeth, and moved the clothes from the washer to the dryer while they waited for the lidocaine to kick in. When she returned, she was wearing the most shit-eating grin. She leaned her shoulder on the bathroom doorframe. _I'm trapped,_ he realized. "You doin' his laundry, huh?"

"Don't be an asshole," Reed slurred through his uncooperative lips. "We fought, we made up, he drove me home, I'm makin' sure the blood comes out of his shirt."

"And that's all."

"That's. _All._ "

"Baby, you barely do your _own_ laundry."

"You gonna fuckin' help me, or not?" He swiped ineffectually at the trickle of blood lazily running down his chin.

"I don't know," Tina said thoughtfully. "Seeing you struggle to cuss is pretty funny." Reed surged upward, snarling, but Tina dropped both hands on his shoulders and planted him right back on the toilet. "Don't try to fuck with me when you're on painkillers."

"I'm not high," he sulked.

"No one said that." She grabbed his jaw in an iron grip and turned his face toward her. "Now hold still and stop talking. I know it'll be a challenge, but I believe in you."

Ten minutes later Tina dropped the last bloodied wipe in the garbage and gave his countertop a swipe for good measure. "Congratulations, it's a boy."

Reed leaned over to spit in the sink, obstinately undoing her cleaning, and wiped the tears out of his eyes. "You didn't even do anything."

"Ice it and stop talking. You are _very_ lucky you didn't need stitches. He's got a hell of a left hook."

"Yeah, you should see the other guy."

"I did. At the precinct. In a white t-shirt that I recognize from your _explicit permission_ for me to wear in your home. He doesn't bruise easy, by the way."

"Fucking androids," Reed muttered.

"Stop talking and put an ice pack on your mouth. I brought wine. And I guess you can use a straw," she said, eyeing him critically. "I figured we could watch some movies."

That was how they spent the rest of the night: curled up on his bed with the covers pulled up around them, a box of wine on the nightstand, watching old dramas on Tina's phone. She assured him she had the next day off and appointed herself the designated drinker, limiting Reed to what she'd decided was 'a regular amount to not make a hangover happen' since he was 'on pain pills and a giant dehydrated baby.'

He knew he was lucky to have a friend like her.

\---

Early Friday morning Reed woke up to a text from CONNOR 2: ELETRIC BOOGALOO. He carefully dislodged Tina from his side and reached over with one shaking hand to grab for his phone. She was right. He _was_ dehydrated.

_Are you coming to work, Detective Reed?_

_Yeah. I'll be ready by 6:30._

_Understood._

Reed snorted quietly. _Understood,_ he mentally mocked Richard. He was willing to bet that dour bastard talked that way in bed, too. _'Hey, suck my dick.' 'Understood.'_ He shook his head and disentangled himself from Tina, who was sleeping the sleep of the dead, and carried the wine into the fridge before returning to the bathroom to shower. Half an hour. He could manage that.

He got an eyeful of himself in the mirror and nearly changed his mind.

His mouth was painfully swollen, just shy of stomach-turning, and _colorful._ He looked like he'd chain-smoked two different bar fights. Richard really had hit him like a fucking battering ram. He was lucky he still had all his teeth. Richard, on the other hand, probably gloated all the way home that it had taken him spit polish and a promise to get back to looking brand new in box.

Fine. He could do this. He returned to the kitchen to grab an ice pack and kept it pressed to his face for the duration of his shower. The warm water woke his body up by degrees, and he felt less like dog shit when he emerged a few minutes later. He tossed the soiled ice pack in the sink and got dressed, preferring to shiver outside in the cold with a cigarette than risk disturbing Tina's beauty sleep.

Richard pulled up at 6:31. Reed stubbed his cigarette out on his shoe and tossed it into the coffee can on his porch, moving toward the Charger before it had even parked. Fuck, it was cold. In contrast to the ice pack, the frigid morning air was doing nothing for his injured mouth. He climbed in, trying to avoid Richard's eyes, but still saw exactly what he expected: that fucking pitying look, that _superiority,_ on that completely unscathed supermodel face. 

"All right, all right, let's go," Reed said, slamming the car door shut behind him. He buckled up and folded in on himself immediately, wishing he'd had the common sense to zip up his jacket while waiting for Mr. Perfect. His scowl deepened when he caught Richard looking at him again. _Looking_ at him. Not even having the balls to say anything. "And quit looking at me like that."

"I just--"

"Well, _don't._ " Reed glared out the window, steadying his nerves. _Just breathe. Ignore the fucking GoBot in the driver seat. He can't bother you unless you let him._

The silence he'd asked for pissed him off. He reached over and gave the power button to the radio a two-fingered punch to life. The air filled with classic rock and the clean bassline wiped the mutinous thoughts clean out of his head, clearing it.

 _Why do you think it is that you're the most successful in clearing your thoughts with violently percussive music?_ Eliza's non-judgmental judgment echoed through his head, but he was too mentally exhausted to take issue with it. He stared blankly out the window, watching the city swipe by from the unfamiliar vantage point of his passenger side window.

Richard blessedly remained silent until they finished the frozen trudge across the precinct parking lot. When they made it inside and Reed had stomped some of the cold out of the soles of his shoes, Richard swiped them through security. When they crossed the lobby, Richard greeted the receptionist and made small talk with her, making her genuinely laugh. When they headed down the corridor toward the bullpen, Richard carefully half a step behind --

"What the fuck are you doing," Reed finally snapped.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"I'll tell you what I mean." He pointed at the faux-confusion on that stupid synthetic face. "This ingratiating shit? It stops now."

Richard frowned. "Ingratiating shit."

"Yeah. Talking to people and swiping me through. Pacing me. I hate that shit."

"That's hardly a surprise. You don't seem to like anything."

"Fuck off, all right? I don't need a goddamn pity party just because you caught buyer's remorse over hitting me."

And that dumb bastard _scoffed._ "I can see where something like this might escape your notice, but sometimes people do things for their own benefit and how it affects you doesn't factor in."

"Hey, go fuck yourself."

"Tell me about Thomas Dobson," Richard said.

Reed scowled. "What's to tell? I don't know shit about Thomas Dobson. You want Thomas Dobson bullet points, you can go talk to Hank."

"You knew enough about him yesterday to run into a burning house over it."

"Look, what I know about Dobson and what I can tell you about Dobson are two different things."

"I don't understand," Richard said, the space between his eyebrows crinkling. "You either know something, or you don't."

"Shows what you know." Reed aborted his sneer halfway through, gingerly touching his mouth.

"You've had medical care."

"Maybe I did it myself."

"You're right-handed. This care was applied with a left-handed bias."

"First of all, I'm ambidextrous." He took a small measure of joy from the approximation of surprise on Richard's face. "Yeah. I'm an anomaly. Jot _that_ down."

Richard quietly snorted. "I was already well aware. You should have let me drive you to an urgent care center."

"What, is my face gonna get more fucked up? Let it go, Rick."

If there was a name for the emotion that flitted across Richard's face, Reed didn't know it.

He spent the rest of the morning in avoidance of everyone's curious eyes, ducking out for a smoke break when he correctly suspected Fowler was on his way into the office. The cigarette stung his mouth and prickled his eyes with tears, but the idea of putting it out made his wallet protest. Instead he leaned against the rail and stared out at the back lot as the morning sun as the cherry slowly burned down to the filter. It was strangely calming. Maybe what he was after wasn't the cigarette, but the quiet time.

_Yeah, and maybe hell went and froze over._

He returned to Connor and Richard urgently conversing six inches from his desk.

"... just think about it," Connor was insisting, "personal development can be surprisingly erratic. I don't think you've considered all the facts."

"Whatever it is, I promise he _considered_ it under a microscope," Reed smoothly cut in. "Can I have my chair back, or is one of you gonna take over for me?"

Both of them visibly startled, unnervingly similar faces defaulting back to the same uncanny map of minutely raised eyebrows and barely-parted mouths. They diverged again when Connor recovered first, gave Reed that bland policebot smile, and straightened up. "Of course, Detective," he said. "I wouldn't want to inconvenience you."

Reed bristled at Connor. _Up_ at Connor, those extra few inches really coming into play up close. "You trying to piss me off?"

"Reed," Richard said, and --

\-- for the life of him, he couldn't explain it --

\-- for some fucking mystery reason he felt a little of the aggression drain out of his stance. He let Connor pass before plopping down in his chair and looking at the notepad he'd left out.

_Cause of death: small arms fire, close range, headshot_

_Method of abduction:_

Yeah, good fucking question. He was getting nowhere fast. He absently drummed his fingers on the ledge of the desk. His mouth hurt. He could feel himself tuning out, launching into what-if after what-if. As loathe as he was to use such an ironic turn of phrase, the wheels in his head were starting to turn.

_What do all these people have in common? They're socially successful, but they have some kind of publicly accessible criminal records for getting their hands dirty helping androids. They all seem to have limited social circles. They all left town with their partners. No, that's an assumption, there's no proof they left together. They planned to leave together. But they don't hide their relationships, and the androids all still had--_

"Reed," Richard said again, and it snapped him back. He focused up to find out that he'd zoned out on Richard's stupid tactically aesthetic face.

"What?"

"You're staring."

"Huh," Reed acknowledged, but immediately averted his eyes. _Android disappearances,_ he finally wrote on the pad. _Missing Persons overclocked -- check with Wayne County/Windsor salvage specialists._ He shot off a few emails to that end and leaned back in his chair. His mouth was starting to dully throb again. His teeth and jaw ached with it, deep in the bone. It felt like he'd been in a car crash. His entire body was slow, graceless, and his mind wasn't much faster.

Time shuffled forward at a goddamned snail's pace. He was distantly aware of Richard watching him, but Richard didn't say anything and Reed didn't ask.

"All right," Reed said finally, decisively, "fuck this, I'm going to lunch." He pushed back from his chair, dry-swallowed some emergency Percocet out of his desk drawer, and found himself strangely disappointed that Richard didn't interfere, didn't get up to follow, didn't even ask when he'd be back.

It left a sourness in his mouth that clashed terribly with the bitter tang of his own blood. He tongued the split in his lip absently, undeterred by the sting, never knowing when to leave well enough alone.

Under his jacket, the crooks of his elbows itched vein-deep.

\---

Even though it was Friday, there wasn't a crowd at his coffeeshop. Reed still didn't have the hang of figuring out when the rushes were. He supposed it wasn't his problem. The regular crew was there, minus Naomi, and even though operations seemed to be running smoothly there was a visible gap in the play. A missing piece of the puzzle.

He ordered his drink, offering a _shit-happens_ smile when the cashier went from chipper to sober at the sight of his fucked-up mouth, and went to the handoff to wait. He didn't miss the cashier quickly converse with Kevin.

"Gavin, I'll bring you your drink," Kevin cheerily said. "Go ahead and have a seat."

 _Ugh. Customer service voice._ But he couldn't say he wasn't glad to sit down at a secluded table instead of standing there putting the upper-middle-class Sharons and Karens off their keto spice lattes. Kevin turned up moments later with his order in hand.

"Thanks," Reed muttered, self-consciously pressing the ruined puff of his mouth. To his surprise, Kevin sat down across from him.

"I have a question." He said it more like -- _I have a question?_ Reed wasn't sure why younger people couldn't just ask their fucking questions and get on with it instead of using another sentence-shaped question as a middleman. Whatever.

"What's up?"

Kevin examined the tabletop for a few seconds. Reed had thought the query might be Naomi-related, but... the kid looked oddly flustered. He scratched at the edge of the beanie where it held his brown curls in some semblance of order. When he finally composed another sentence Reed's patience was starting to wear thin.

"Is -- do you know if Richard is single?"

He laughed in disbelief. It strained his mouth painfully; he could feel the skin twinge where it pulled. "What?"

"Richard," Kevin said shyly. "Your co-worker. Is he seeing anybody?"

 _Wow. This is. This is unbelievable._ "I mean," Reed hedged, trying to let the guy retain a few shreds of dignity, "he's kind of, uh, focused on his work, you know?"

"Yeah, I mean, he seems really serious about it." Kevin was watching the door, mildly paranoid, probably wondering if Richard was going to come rolling in. Reed knew the feeling. "Which is really cool. I mean, I couldn't do what you guys do day in and day out."

"You get used to it," Reed said. He sipped his drink and let the steam soothe the pain. "I couldn't do _this_ all day. Being nice to people isn't really my thing."

"You seem to do all right in here."

"That's because you guys aren't total idiots."

Kevin laughed. "Gavin, are you trying to dodge the question?"

"Maybe," Reed said, startled. Most people weren't that observant. Most people let him lead them around wherever he felt like going.

"If he's in a relationship it's not gonna break my heart. I was going to ask you if you thought he'd give me his number."

"I barely know the guy," Reed deflected. "I guess I'm just kind of surprised you're asking. He's what critics are calling 'stone cold.'"

"What can I say? I like them quiet."

"He works long hours, y'know. Dating a cop is a bad way to go."

"I do, too. And I don't mind waiting or, you know, keeping house or whatever. I don't really get tired."

"Plus, I mean -- you do know he's an android, right?"

Kevin hesitated, a split second freeze, and then he smiled. An alarm quietly started up in Reed's head. Not the _danger_ alarm, the _you fucked up_ alarm. "That's not a problem for me," Kevin said nonchalantly.

The sheer range of responses Reed had to that statement drowned each other out in a violent cacophony. He did his best to look casually apologetic. "Oh yeah?"

"Gavin, _I'm_ an android," Kevin said. He removed his hat and gently tossed it onto the table. Sure enough, his rumpled curls had been hiding an LED ring just out of sight.

 _What the fuck,_ Reed thought.

"Oh," he finally said, several seconds too late. He distantly expected Kevin's LED to color cycle, to drift over to that awful anxiousness-inducing yellow that made Reed's stomach flip. But it didn't. It stayed cool electric blue.

"You really didn't know?" Kevin looked like such a possibility had never occurred to him. "I hope this doesn't change anything between us. I really want to stay friends with you."

"No, it's fine," Reed blurted out. He surprised himself by meaning it. "I didn't -- I wasn't trying to --"

"Let's just forget about it."

Reed wasn't used to being given the benefit of the doubt. It threw him off-kilter. "Uh, all right."

"Although," Kevin said, and his voice was somehow both thoughtful and devious, "and understand I'm asking you as a friend..."

Reed tried to keep his tone closer to _friendly_ than _furious._ "What is it," he ground out.

"That guy you were... talking to the other day. You, uh, do know he's _one of us,_ right?"

"Yep," Reed said flatly, very conscious of the heat rising in his face, "I am aware."

Kevin was grinning. "Okay," he said, "just checking."

\---

It wasn't until nearly 4 that Reed realized he hadn't extended Beverly Saunders' dinner invitation to Richard. He looked around for his partner only to find his desk empty.

"Shit," he muttered. He didn't want to text him and risk having to be on the hook for immediate responses. Was it gauche to leave a note on his desk?

Why did he suddenly care what was and wasn't gauche where that plastic job thief was concerned?

He scrawled a short missive on a post-it and stuck it to Richard's monitor. It would have to do. He wasn't going to wait for that asshole to amble back in like he hadn't just disappeared without any kind of warning.

"Packing it in, Reed?"

Anderson. The sneer that crossed Reed's face made him taste blood. "Yeah. Hot date." 

"Huh. Brought you a present." Anderson waved a sheaf of papers -- case files of an older format, Reed could see -- and tossed them on the corner of his desk. "Got you some expunged files on good ol' Tommy Dobson."

"Oh," said Reed, at a loss. "Uh, thanks."

"Yep."

"Why're you helping me all of a sudden?"

Anderson sighed. "Just because you're an asshole doesn't mean you don't care about your job. And it's _my_ job to give you tools you don't have access to."

The warm spread of feeling through his chest was completely foreign. "Uh. Okay."

"I can't help you if you don't tell me what you need."

"This an intervention? I'm trying to clock out."

"Just a statement of fact."

"Great. Leaps and bounds of personal progress. Can I go now?"

Anderson rolled his eyes. "Do what you want."

"For real, Hank, lay off. Just because you needed help cleaning up your act doesn't mean I need a babysitter."

That hit home. He could tell. It brought him a wavering spark of pleasure, like an attempt at lighting a damp candle's wick. "Just go home."

He could feel his face heating up with what felt suspiciously like _shame._ It was horrifying. He turned away, grabbed his jacket, and tried to make it look like he wasn't hightailing it for the door.

"And, Reed --"

Reed sighed and stopped again, not bothering to keep the exasperation out of his voice. "Yeah?"

"You look like shit, kid. Try to stay out of trouble."

Reed tossed a middle finger over his shoulder and didn't look back.

\---

His phone buzzed in his pocket as he entered Beverly Saunders' neighborhood. Text message. He knew, _knew,_ it was from Richard. Part of him itched to open it, to immediately shoot off a shitty response about how if he wanted to be included he needed to be quicker on the draw. The rest of him was wrestling with the urge to smoke before sentencing himself to however many hours in the Saunders house waiting for David to go for his throat.

The cigarette won out. Reed stopped the car two blocks away and shivered his ass off, sucking it down so quickly he got lightheaded. It had been a while since he'd managed a feat like that. He quelled the panic that rose in the middle of his chest as he anticipated the sharper, deeper urge of something harder. Something he still refused to say in his head unless absolutely necessary. Something that, in the last few weeks, was nearly powerful enough to drive him away from crime scenes if it was present.

Maybe he _should_ tell Eliza.

And maybe he could take out his gun, right now, and shoot himself in the fucking foot. Good thing he'd left it locked up in his apartment.

He drifted the remaining distance to the Saunders' house and steeled himself before knocking on the door. He wasn't sure why he was dreading their appointment quite so profoundly. Maybe it was the way Beverly Saunders reminded him of his own grandmother, long-dead, long-disappointed by his life choices. She'd been the one to pay for his college, and later, his rehab. He'd never thanked her. He'd been too angry that his own parents hadn't been there, that his grandmother had raised a son that had been stupid enough to get himself and his wife killed before they were finished raising their son. _God. Now is not the time for this._

Of course David Saunders opened the door. Reed had to give him credit; his body language was neutral, void of open aggression. "Detective Reed," he acknowledged.

"Mr. Saunders. Please, just call me Gavin."

 _That_ seemed to score some points. Reed wasn't surprised. Acknowledging his place in the family had to be the surname equivalent of not having someone knowingly say 'who _ever_ you marry,' a phrase on Reed's personal shit list. David stepped aside and welcomed him in. 

"Mom's still in the kitchen," he said. "Don't offer to help. It really offends her."

"David, don't make him stand in the foyer all night," Beverly called, and Reed was surprised at the relief he felt at the vitality in her voice. Why should he care? Cold as it was, she was just another victim's mother.

"I'm not, Mom," David sighed, but it was a good-natured sound.

Beverly turned around and eyed Reed, taking in the formality level of his clothing and seeming satisfied. "Detective, good to see you, did you bring Richard with you?"

"He got hung up at work," Reed said, going for the technical truth.

"Pity, I liked when you brought him by. He reminds me of my husband. Wash your hands." Reed didn't doubt it for a second, from the way she'd cried against Richard's side like she'd been reunited with her high school sweetheart. He obliged, carefully squeezing in next to her at the double-wide sink.

She looked up at him and frowned severely at the state of his mouth. "You're injured."

"It's not as bad as it looks, ma'am," he lied. Even through another serving of painkillers it hurt like hell.

Beverly shook her head and barely waited for his hands to be dry before shoving a plate into either one and shooing him into the dining room. The disapproval surprisingly stung.

"Now, you, you remind me of my son. Not Lew, my eldest, Ari. He always did what was right. And he always found the most roundabout way possible of getting there."

"That's one hell of a backhanded compliment.”

"Oh, you better believe it." He and David sat at her dining room table, large enough for a couple and their three adult children with spouses. Reed followed her mutely through the various blessings, something deep in his chest twinging strangely. Being welcomed into this stranger's house didn't make him feel like a visitor at all, and he resented it.

"Eat," Beverly instructed him. "I know how you boys get when you don't have someone looking out for you. No regard for your long-term health."

"Ma'am, I'm thirty-six."

"Boys. All of you. Without people in your life to help you grow, that's all you'll ever be. No business until we're done eating,” Beverly assured him.

"All right," Reed said, oddly amused, and obliged her. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a home-cooked meal he hadn't made himself. There was a knock at the door. Without a word, David got up to answer it.

Reed froze, fork halfway to his mouth. He knew, _knew_ , it was Richard. Sure enough, without a word audibly exchanged at the door, Richard followed David into the dining room. He didn't seem angry, or even so much as annoyed, but Reed knew better than to trust what he saw on the surface.

"Oh, good," Beverly said, struggling up from her chair. "You made it. It's good to see you again."

"I do apologize," Richard said. "Something came up at work."

"Nothing serious, I hope."

"Routine," he said, sitting down, but the meaningful look he gave Reed said otherwise. If either of the Saunders' caught their exchange, they were polite enough to pretend they hadn't.

"We were just talking to Detective Reed about his family."

Reed saw his own surprise mirrored on David's face. _That conniving old bat,_ he thought, completely floored. Aloud, though, he managed to recover adequately enough. "Please, ma'am, just Gavin is fine.”

"Oh, of course," Beverly said. Her smile was warm. Unassuming. _Note to self,_ Reed thought, _never try to get anything past Beverly Saunders._ "You were saying?"

"Uh, I -- don't recall."

"About how you're from the city?"

 _I know I never said that._ He waited for Richard to pick a seat. He was, unbelievably, even better looking out of his work clothes. His slacks were higher quality, closely tailored, and were missing the SWAT-team-but-make-it-fashion quality of what he wore on the job. It was... distracting. Reed refused to think about why. "North Detroit, ma'am."

She gave him a knowing look and dropped the line of questioning. "How about you, Richard? Where were you living before you came to Detroit?"

"DC, ma'am."

"Oh, that's such a beautiful city. Do you think you'll move back?"

"To be honest, ma'am, I'm only in Detroit for a six-month assignment."

"Only six months? That's such a shame. Gavin, you'll have to show him the sights."

"Oh, sure," said Reed, mentally scheduling himself to eat glass instead.

As it turned out, Beverly Saunders was like a dog with a fucking bone when it came to fishing for information. Reed reluctantly admitted to being single, to living alone, no pets, to graduating with honors. He felt uneasily like she was trying to play matchmaker. _She would have made a great interrogator,_ he thought, face warm with embarrassment. Richard, with no secrets to hide, was perfectly relaxed next to him, stretched out in the chair like he owned the place.

Reed quickly figured out that the more food he put away, the less questions he was asked. He very distinctly felt like he was being manipulated. _It's for the case,_ he told himself. _Who cares what you tell some old lady?_

But it wasn't about Beverly Saunders, or even about David, who was sitting there looking bored to death, LED occasionally blipping yellow. No, it was all Richard, sitting off to his right, silently absorbing everything.

_Just relax. It's not like you said anything incriminating. She asked about undergrad, for god's sake._

He really, _really_ wanted a cigarette.

or

 _Fuck,_ he thought, _shut up. Shut up._ Richard turned his head fractionally, giving him a mildly curious look.

Finally, _finally,_ their meal drew to a close. It had barely been forty minutes, but it had felt like eight lifetimes. "Okay," Beverly said decisively, "and now--"

"Mom, come on," David protested, "leave the poor guy alone, huh?"

"I'm not asking them to join us in prayer, I'm asking them to be present. They're all alone on a Friday night, honey."

The split-second expression on David's face said it all: he could take or leave Richard, but he didn't want his precious mother fawning all over this interloper regardless of how he was brought up.

"Fine," Beverly dismissed, "fine, we'll have it your way."

 _Fine by me,_ Reed thought. _Think I've had enough of the tidings of Elijah to last me a couple dozen lifetimes._

Beverly Saunders fussed with her son over who would take the dishes to the kitchen, finally compromising by each taking an inefficiently small stack. Their voices were full of a sort of familial amusement that was wholly foreign to Reed's ears. "Go on and sit in the living room, boys," Beverly called back to them. "We'll be in soon."

Reed itched for a cigarette, but Richard steered him away from the door as if he could read his mind. They settled in the living room, conspicuously _not_ sitting where they had been when they reported Lew's death.

Reed kept his voice low. "What do you think?"

"Very illuminating," Richard said. "Now I see why you didn't want me to come."

"Not me, idiot, the case. Why do you think she had us drive all the way over here instead calling or coming downtown?"

"Maybe she thought the information was too sensitive," Richard said. "Or maybe she's lonely."

"Lonely?"

"There's no car in the driveway. I doubt she leaves the neighborhood very often."

"I guess," muttered Reed, but his train of thought was cut short by Beverly entering with a cardboard box in her shriveled hands. He could hear David on dish duty, quietly humming.

"This was Lew's," she said, carefully handing the box to Richard. He took it with both hands. "This is the sort of IT work he did. I hope it might have something useful in it."

Richard lifted the lid and looked inside, tilting it toward Reed. It was full of notebooks and storage drives. Reed felt his stomach run cold. There were only so many things that could be on those discs to merit Beverly Saunders handing the physical copies over, knowing she might never get them back.

 _But with Dobson's fingers still in everything,_ he thought, _can I really give this to our tech department?_

Beverly Saunders tearfully thanked them for coming over and teased Reed for stiffening when she hugged him. She then turned and threw her arms around Richard, who, unlike Reed, endured it like an actual human being. David grudgingly shook Reed's hand and even looked him in the eye when he did it.

The instant the door closed behind them, Reed grabbed Richard's arm. It startled him. The effect wasn't as funny as he'd pictured.

"What," Richard said, but his LED flashed yellow and he went perfectly still. Carefully, feeling like he'd just swung at a hornet's nest, Reed let go.

"You looked at me funny in there. What happened? We get another body drop?"

Richard slowly relaxed back into a less inanimate-looking posture. "Two," he said. "Both downtown. Did you want to discuss them?"

"I'm not clocked in." He looked around. "Did you take a cab here?"

"I don't own a car yet."

"Saving for a Ferrari?"

"I didn't see the point in purchasing a car while away on assignment."

"What, not even a beater? You're not gonna catch me in a cab unless it's absolutely necessary." He motioned Richard toward the Charger, lighting another cigarette as he went. "C'mon, I'll give you a ride."

The evening light loaned Richard an uncharacteristic softness. Reed allowed it to be obscured by the smoke from his cigarette, letting the engine warm up while he drained the Camel to the filter. He pretended to miss the gratitude that momentarily lit up Richard's face. "If it's not any trouble."

"We're already an hour out of town. Wherever you're going is practically on the way."

"115 Michigan Drive," Richard said.

Reed's brow furrowed. He slung himself into the car and held his question until Richard joined him. "You live with Anderson?"

"I do."

"Jesus. Don't you ever feel like a third wheel?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"I just figured it would be a little awkward, with him and Connor and their, you know..."

The barest quarter-cycle of yellow. "...Oh. No. They're not in a relationship."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No," Richard said, voice slightly strangled with amusement. "No. I am not."

"Unbelievable," Reed breathed. "I figured from the way they flirt at the precinct they would have been making the cyborg with two backs by now."

"Disgusting," said Richard, "thank you for that."

"Oh," Reed said with a nearly malicious grin. "I wouldn't have figured you for some kind of _fundamentalist._ "

"Maybe I think androids could do better than subjecting themselves to the protein laden spatter of an ill-contained bag of biotic decay."

"Sure, maybe," said Reed, "but you don't."

"I don't know what gives you that idea."

"Plenty of things, starting with how sympathetic you are toward the kidnapping victims in our case."

"They're still people, even if they make unfathomable mistakes."

"Quit trying to play devil's advocate with me. I'm the reigning champion."

"So I've noticed," Richard said. "Let's change the subject."

"To what?"

Richard was silent for a few minutes. The radio was barely audible under the thrum of the engine, but it was enough for Reed to eventually tune out and forget he was waiting on an answer. When Richard finally spoke again, it nearly scared him out of his skin.

"How are you related to Elijah Kamski?"

Reed frowned and looked over at Richard. As usual, he was inscrutable, but today, he was steadily staring back instead of looking through the windshield. "Why?"

"I'm trying to see the bigger picture. Connor says that knowing someone's family situation can increase your understanding of them."

"Connor says a lot of things."

"You should take steps to recover from your unrequited sexual tension with him."

"What? My _what?"_

Richard frowned. "Did you not notice? You tend to be actively aggressive in a manner men usually reserve for sexual conquest."

"I do _what?"_

"According to Hank, that's also a classic sign of sexual frustration."

"It's a classic -- look, get back to me when Hank knows what he's talking about. I'm not _sexually attracted_ to Connor."

"I didn't say you were," said Richard, giving him an odd look.

"Anyway, to answer your _question,_ he's my sister's son." He wondered momentarily if he'd been baited into answering. He supposed it didn't matter. It was just six months. "I moved in with her and her husband when I was a kid."

"Why?"

"Parents died." He waited for a wave of awkward pity that never came. Thank god for small miracles. "And my grandmother had moved to Minneapolis. Everyone wanted to keep me in the same high school."

"You don't sound like that made you very happy."

"Don't guess it would make anyone very happy."

"You would have preferred to move?"

"I would have _preferred_ not to go to high school with Elijah fucking Kamski."

"It sounds like a lot to live up to."

"Yeah, living in the shadow of the man that could have become anything, so he became an asshole." Reed scoffed quietly. "Everyone was a fucking simpleton compared to Elijah. It wouldn't have mattered how smart I was."

"You said you graduated with honors."

"Is this an interrogation, or something?"

"I'm just trying to understand you better, Reed."

"Look, man, there's nothing to understand. I'm an asshole. It doesn't go any deeper than that. There's no mysterious trauma. There's no underlying _anything,_ all right? You reached the bottom. Quit digging."

Richard regarded him in silence for a long moment. "You're a decent liar, but not about personal topics."

"Fuck you."

"Inscrutability isn't a sign of strength, Reed. If anything, your inability to connect with others is a weakness."

"I don't need this right now," Reed muttered, finally pulling into Anderson's neighborhood.

"You really should come to terms with it."

"Why is it always me that needs to come to terms with something? What about you?"

"I'm whatever I need to be, Detective." Richard returned that penetrating gaze to the world at large. "Your partner, your friend... or just someone sent to accomplish a task."

Reed turned on him, but Richard was regarding Anderson's window as they pulled up. Connor was visible past the open curtain, reading from a tablet with that huge dog curled up next to him on the couch. Anderson passed by. Whatever he said made Connor laugh. Like, a full-throated, genuine laugh.

For a confusing moment, Reed envied them. 

"I'll see you tomorrow, Reed." Richard unbuckled and got out of the car. He took the mystery box with him.

"Yeah. Uh. Do you need a ride?"

Those watercolor eyes snapped back to his. Richard looked startled. "No, but -- thank you."

Reed broke eye contact first. "Yeah."

Richard adjourned to head up the quiet front walk in the quiet little neighborhood. The door opened before he'd even arrived to Connor and the dog, who looked equally happy to see him. Reed watched them exchange pleasantries, but quickly pretended to be absorbed in his phone when Connor looked past Richard to where he was still sitting. He pulled away before the front door had even closed.

The dark roads back to his apartment were slick with the evidence of recent rainfall. It was strange how no matter what season it was, it seemed like it had always just rained.

He turned to posit as much to Richard.

But there was just a bubble of March nighttime air in the space he'd left behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, throwing this shit in here like a flash grenade: 👌


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Ah," Richard said. "You're attempting camaraderie."

_well, nobody wants to burn in hell_  
_but everybody's got a soul to sell_  
_when i was young, my mama gave me some advice_  
_she said 'boy, don't you know everybody's got a price?'_  
__  
(electric six - naked pictures (of your mother))  


  


  


  


Two houses. Two bodies. Two crime scenes.

Reed tried to insist that they split up and cover more ground, since they both knew what to expect. It was a serial killer, he reasoned. There was a pattern. They were a team. They could split up and literally be in two places at once. But Richard wasn't having it.

"I'm not waiting on a cab to do my job, Detective," he said. "Besides, your current appearance will leave a lot to be desired when it comes to comforting the family and friends of the deceased."

"If this about your 100% Completionist obsession, forget it. You can go talk to these assholes and I'll make phone calls to try and advance the case."

"You mean the work I can do in my head without interrupting my external functionality? I don't like redundancy. Since I can't even interface with you to share my progress, you need to be present."

In the end it took until nearly noon to comb through both crime scenes to Richard's satisfaction, and no new category of evidence had turned up. Reed was impatient, unfocused, ready for lunch, and pissed off that he had to keep answering questions about who had busted him in the face. Every single time he was asked that, his hackles went up; he waited for Richard to show any smugness, any sign of satisfaction, but he'd already learned that bastard was good at keeping it hidden.

"Do we need to break for lunch soon, Detective?"

"'Do _we_ need to--' You don't even eat."

"I'd benefit from a break. We could go to that cafe you prefer."

Reed thought about Kevin, doe-eyed and wringing his hands while he pined over a man he barely knew, and sourly frowned. "Somewhere else."

"You'll have to pick. I'm unfamiliar with your preferences."

"Fast service, good staff, doesn't stink like bacon from the outside."

"There are a few places in the general vicinity that seem to fit your criteria."

Which was how Reed found himself in a small restaurant that reminded him strongly of somewhere his parents might go on a date. He hated the privacy, the unsettling quiet, the calm music gently piped in from the ceiling. Richard sat across from him, ankle crossed over his knee, the soft light painting him as a classically romantic picture in his black clothes against the dark wood of the restaurant.

"Hey," Reed said. "Question."

"Answer," Richard said, dryly.

"Why does Connor dress like an eighties movie reject but you dress like a normal person?"

"What do you mean?"

"You got the fashion model thing going on. Connor dresses like someone left him at a Goodwill with twenty bucks."

Richard quietly scoffed, covering a laugh. "He's not that bad. Lieutenant Anderson isn't the worst human one could imprint upon."

"Guess you'd know, since you live with him."

"Connor's wardrobe cost at _least_ thirty dollars."

That startled a laugh out of Reed that was so sincere he didn't hear the waitress approaching their table to set down his lunch. He didn't miss the strange, strained politeness with which she regarded the two of them. He sobered abruptly, wondering what she was seeing -- what was spiking her anxiety. Was it two men on a date? Was it a man and an android? Was it Richard's presence in general?

 _Maybe it's you,_ he thought, schooling his expression back into a frown. _Acting like a fucking college kid trying to get laid instead of like you're just eating lunch with your plastic coworker._ He paid using his phone so that the waitress wouldn't come back over and ruin his meal with her perfectly understandable attitude and set into his food.

Richard was watching him eat.

It was... unnerving.

"What are you staring at," Reed said, not really wanting an answer.

"You have a healthier palette than I expected."

"Gotta stay in shape somehow."

"I just thought someone with your personality type would be more neglectful of his health."

"Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you." Reed took a sip of his iced tea and thought without an ounce of guilt about the fast food he'd scarfed down twice a week until he'd felt threatened by Richard's presence.

"Not particularly." Richard leaned back in the chair, looking for all the world like a glamour shot of a CEO at play, and folded his hands comfortably over his perfectly-aligned belt buckle. "Knowing you put some effort into your physical health makes the performance gap between us a little easier to weather."

"Fuck you."

"And I suspect subpar nutrition would make you more ill-tempered."

"Are you trying to piss me off, or is this just how you are?"

"This is just the way I am."

"Well, get a filter."

"Get a personality." Richard's cool eyes flashed, but nothing else about his posture gave away his utter contempt.

Reed got up and tossed a cash tip on the table. "All right, break time's over. Are you coming, or do you need to head back to the community college to help the kiddies work on those psych degrees?"

Richard said nothing -- just smoothly stood and preceded him to the door, and glowered his distaste as Reed managed to suck down an entire cigarette on the block-and-a-half walk back to the Charger.

"What's your problem _now?"_

"Your use of recreational stimulants is concerning."

"Use of -- what, are you talking about my cigarettes?"

"I can see why they made you a detective."

"Fuck you. I do what I want."

"I thought men of your target demographics found the residual smell and taste of cigarette consumption unattractive."

"You have no idea what my target demographic is."

He could see that bastard hiding a smile. "I think I have an idea."

"No one asked for your opinion." Reed turned the car toward the precinct. His face felt inexplicably hot. "I wanna go over Chambers' file."

"Chambers. The arson squad leader." Richard thoughtfully drummed his fingers on his knee. "Do you think he has a connection to the murders?"

"I hope so. I want that little bastard to eat shit and die."

"You seem preoccupied with the idea that Chambers and Dobson are in some way responsible."

"Dobson's a grade-A android hater and he's one step below cop killer. Chambers ain't far behind. I happen to know they worked together for five years."

"Six. They were also childhood neighbors, and graduated from the same high school."

"Well, look at you. You Facebook stalk them?"

"There's an article in the archive of the now-defunct West Michigan Christian News indicating that they were on the varsity basketball team, one year apart."

"So, do you see where I'm coming from yet?"

"I've added an entry for Chambers' social media in my aggregator."

Reed scoffed. "Okay, Agatha Lively. You could just say I'm right."

"Thankfully, I don't have to extend that courtesy unless you actually _are_ right, though I'm willing to look into it."

"Cute."

"It's a waste of daylight to return to the precinct at this time of day. Can't you just remotely print Chambers' file to an onboard printer?"

"My car doesn't have an onboard printer."

"All the patrol cars do."

"Yeah, well, patrol cars are a lot less likely to get stolen, compared to an unmarked car like this one. If somebody savvy enough gets a hold of a printer on the internal network they could extract who-knows-what information from it. Besides, replacing the tech would be expensive."

"So they'd rather you drive back to the precinct every time you need a file? Why not just pull it up on a tablet?"

"Can't concentrate reading on a screen."

"Where do you keep the files once you've printed them?"

"In my desk," Reed said. "Or at home in a filing cabinet. Why?"

"That's a breach of departmental policy. Physical copies of files aren't supposed to leave the precinct."

"It's a compromise. I need access to my files at home. The cabinet is locked. If anyone tries to break into my apartment we're gonna have a bigger problem than whether or not some indecipherable case files went missing." Reed pulled into the lot, parked, and turned to face Richard. "The only people that know I print off my files are you and Hank. You gonna rat me out?"

Richard frowned, but said nothing.

"Just keep in mind I'll know if you did." Reed got out of the car and headed inside, surprised that he didn't feel any anger. He made short work of printing off the files he needed -- plus the new autopsy reports to add to his collection -- and met Richard back by their shared workspace. His partner's LED was spinning a slow, thoughtful yellow. "You ready?"

"I'm trying to figure out how I feel about your breach of the rules."

"How about you keep it to yourself, and then if shit goes down you can throw me under the bus?" Reed slapped him on the shoulder. Richard flinched -- barely, but it was there. "Consider it a blackmail freebie."

"Ah," Richard said. "You're attempting camaraderie."

"Yep."

"You're pretty bad at it."

"Take it or leave it, Rick."

Richard watched him dick with the printer and print off a fifty-page-strong sheaf of documents. Out of the corner of his eye, Reed saw that fucking mood ring cycle from a brighter yellow back to its usual inscrutable blue. He'd take it.

They went down to the evidence room in strangely comfortable silence. Richard let Reed lead him down through the corridors and swipe the both of them through security. It was empty. Uncommon, for a Friday night. Usually that part of the building was packed with new blood trying to submit their evidence before the administrative office closed. Reed usually wanted to take them aside and tell them not to kill themselves over it, since crime wasn't going to stop happening no matter how punctually they submitted anything.

Wait -- not empty.

"...getting along just fine," Reed caught faintly, recognizing the voice as Connor. Strangely, despite how long Connor had been working there, at first he identified the voice not as _Connor_ but as _like Richard's, but different._

"Looks can be deceiving." Anderson's deep rumble answered back. He sounded thoughtful. Reed double-checked with Richard, who had to be hearing the conversation -- who had to _have been_ hearing the conversation for much longer than Reed could have. Richard ignored his questioning look. Reed couldn't tell, but he seemed to be listening carefully. "But, hey, you've been right once or twice."

"Very funny, Hank."

Weird. Reed would have assumed Richard would have had a problem with something as sneaky as eavesdropping. But his LED remained a steady blue -- he seemed to be making zero effort to contact Connor and let them know he and Reed could hear his personal conversation. _Why? Doesn't he get enough of this crap at home?_

There was a momentary silence.

"Well," Anderson said, "it's getting late. I'll give you a ride."

"You always give me a ride." Connor sounded amused, but Reed could detect a few molecules of strain bouncing around his dumb newscaster voice. Richard silently stepped closer. Reed wondered if he could hear the underlying message in Connor's voice.

Because Reed could, loud and clear.

 _How is Anderson this stupid?_ He heard Anderson shift and presumably slide off of one of the large tables in the room. There was a gentle thud. Reed tensed, ready to bolt. The thrill of getting caught made his blood itch. But Anderson didn't move. Connor's voice, when it came again, was closer to where he'd last heard Anderson.

"You're working too hard. I haven't seen you like this about a case in a while."

"Just trying to distract myself, I guess." It was difficult to pick Anderson's voice, low and vulnerable, out of the cloud of electronic humming the computer banks ambiently emitted. "It's not just the case, y'know?"

"Is it about--"

"Yeah. Mostly." Reed imagined the wince on Anderson's tired face, creasing the space between his eyebrows, the expression he wore when he'd accidentally given away too much in a slip of honesty. "It's not that I don't believe they'll do good work together, I just... think that maybe it wasn't such a smart move, Jeffrey letting Gavin take on Richard like this."

"Why not? They seem to get along just fine."

"Really, Con? Did you see Gavin's face this morning?"

"I did not," Connor admitted.

"Well, I did, and it was worse than usual. Looks like he got put through the wringer." Reed scowled. It hurt his mouth.

"Shame," Connor said. He didn't do a good job of pretending he meant it. Anderson chuckled.

"Subtle."

"You told me yourself I don't have to get along with everyone," Connor muttered.

"Hey, you're making great strides."

"Yeah, about that. Listen," Connor said, sounding nervous, sounding ready, "Hank..."

There was 

uncertain 

silence.

Reed couldn't take it another second longer. He strode into the room as if he had no idea those two idiots were already making eyes at each other from two feet apart. Connor and Anderson scrambled apart with identical deer-in-headlights expressions. "Shit," Reed said. "Occupée. Sorry."

"We were just leaving," Connor said, creating more space between himself and Anderson.

Reed snorted. He couldn't get enough of the poorly-hidden exasperation on Anderson's face. The dumb son of a bitch grabbed a folder and Reed could see him subtly shift it over the front of his pants. Well. Apparently _that_ still worked just fine even if the dumb bastard's brain didn't. Connor would be delighted, eventually. "Hey, don't stop working on my account."

But the two of them were already heading for the door. Reed watched as, with a completely staggering lack of subtlety, Anderson let Connor go up the steps ahead of him. Probably to ogle his twink ass.

The upper door had scarcely closed behind them when Richard turned those bright, accusing eyes on him. "Why did you do that?"

"It got awkward," Reed protested. "I hate awkward. Secondhand embarrassment is a hell of a drug."

"You interrupted and -- I have been trying to see this thing resolved for two months," Richard said. He looked exasperated. The strangest alarm bells went off in Reed's head.

"This thing?"

"The two of them!"

"Hot damn, JDate," Reed breathed. "Are you trying to play matchmaker?"

"No," Richard said defensively. "I'm just tired of watching them dance around each other. It's infuriating. I can't believe the two of them are so self-absorbed, so unable to read the other's cues --"

"I guess everyone needs a hobby," Reed said. He couldn't keep the smirk off his face. Annoyed, Richard bypassed him to absorb himself in their current evidence wall. 

They worked in near silence until coincidence found them both heading for the stairwell at the same time. Reed expected to have to jockey for position on the narrow stairs, but Richard seemed content to let him go first. It made his hackles go up, though he couldn't put a finger on why. They resumed work at their desks without conversation until Reed's phone alarm went off.

"It's almost six," Reed said. "I'm tapping out." But Richard was busy making his talking-to-Connor face, seated at his desk, flicking between files on two monitors at once.

"Sure," he said absently. The yellow pulsing on his temple stopped and was consumed by blue. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I said I'm going home." Reed shrugged his coat on and logged off of his desktop. "Got weekend plans."

"Oh." Richard looked like such a thing had never occurred to him. Reed silently put him in the column of people who assumed he couldn't get a date. "I have a few more things to go over here. I'll see you on Tuesday."

"Yeah. Don't work too hard." Reed was already busying his fingers with a match on his way to the exit. He polished off a cigarette as he warmed up the car. _Just two today. Not bad._

He went home to shower and decided not to shave, though he did clean up the swollen mess of the slowly healing bust in his lip. The stubble would help hide it, he decided. He never was one to try to hide his flaws, but for some reason the idea of Jack disapproving of what he saw left an odd unhappiness in his stomach.

\---

Jack opened the door to him after the first knock. His expression fell the moment he laid eyes on Reed's busted-up face. "Jesus, Gavin."

"What? Oh," Reed said, reaching up and self-consciously touching his mouth. "Yeah, shit happens." He let Jack lead him into the house and push the door closed behind him.

"Did you get mugged, or something?" Jack's tone was light, but he wasn't doing a very good job of hiding his worry. 

"Nah. Look, don't worry about it. It got handled."

It hadn't gotten handled. _He'd_ gotten handled. Richard had made it perfectly clear that if they ever seriously went at it, Reed was getting put in the ground.

"Okay," said Jack, "look. I get that we barely know each other, but if someone shows up at my house looking like they got put through the wringer, I'm going to worry."

"It doesn't look that bad."

"It looks like you got gaybashed."

"Nah, that's not what that looks like."

"You're not exactly helping your case here, Gavin." Jack reached out, carefully, like he was soothing a spooked animal, and Reed let him put a hand on his cheek.

Yeah, maybe the tough cop act wasn't the way to go. Then it occurred to him: Jack had no idea he was a cop.

Jack had no idea what he did, who he was, what he could or couldn't handle. That he was an inconsolable asshole three quarters of the time. That he was a boring son of a bitch that spent most of his time either at work or looking to get dicked down. He was free to act without any of the expectations other people usually put on him. He could just... be understood.

It felt weird. Like a weight he hadn't known had been sitting on him was lifted off of his shoulders.

"I got in a fight," Reed said. Simple. To the point. "I promise it's no more or less complicated than that. I piss people off, Jack. That's kind of my thing."

"As long as you're sure."

"You should see the other guy."

"All right," Jack said, putting up his hands in surrender. He smiled. "I'll lay off. It's a shame, though."

"What is?"

"I was looking forward to stuffing your pretty mouth full."

Reed swallowed. "Come on. Don't tease." His eyes fell to the crotch of Jack's well-fitted jeans, betraying his enthusiasm more than his tone ever could.

"Some other time, I guess. It's fine." Jack closed the distance between them, put both of his hands unabashedly on Reed's chest, and pinched his nipples until it pried a harsh gasp from his throat. "As I recall, I like hearing the sound of your voice."

" _Oh,_ " Reed said. "Shit."

"Yeah," Jack agreed. "So, with that in mind --"

"Can you not talk like a college professor?"

"You like it." Jack rubbed the sting out of his nipples before pinching them again -- tightly, between the thick joints of his first and second fingers this time, so he could torment the perking tips by flicking his thumbs. He stepped back, tugging warningly so Reed would follow, and sat on the couch. The abrupt motion forced Reed to scramble into his lap in an ungraceful pile. "You also really liked when I held you down, the other night."

"Yeah." Reed struggled to get himself into some semblance of order, but Jack's grip was unbreakable. The circular motion of his thumbs was starting to take its toll: Reed found himself already biting down on a protesting vocalization. He wanted to see how far Jack would go.

He wanted to see how much he could take.

"I liked it, too. I like making guys like you lose control. You have so much stamina, but you don't know where your limits are."

Reed quietly cursed and shifted closer, enjoying the heat and solidity of Jack's body under his. He resisted the urge to slide home and rut against his stomach so he could feel Jack's cock kiss the seam of his jeans -- but oh, how he wanted to.

"Nothing to say?"

"No argument here," Reed said, voice thick. Jack's fingers were relentless, and Reed supposed he really would have to give in sooner or later -- the guy was an android. They didn't seem to _get_ bored with tasks like this. "Shit, shit, that hurts."

"I can stop."

"Didn't say that." His voice broke. He found himself panting, back bowing, thighs twitching around Jack's legs as his hips disobeyed him and stuttered into a maddening friction worse than stillness.

"I know. I don't want to stop, either." Jack dragged him closer, dragged a sob from his throat, and his voice was gentle. "I'm patient. I want to make you come just from this."

"I -- I can't do that."

"You can do whatever I make you do." Jack's tongue touched the shell of his ear. His breath was hot. Convincing. 

"Fuck," Reed whispered, and let go of Jack's wrists to undo his own belt.

"Get mine, since you're down there."

"Get it yourself."

"My hands are full." He pointedly twisted his fingers, steadily increasing the pressure. "You're taking this pretty well."

He wasn't. He could feel tears gathering hot and shameful in the corners of his eyes. He worried his lower lip in his teeth to hold back the noise that threatened to spill forth. The pain increased, hot, thrilling, numbing --

He grabbed Jack's wrists. His voice was tight. "Too much--"

And Jack immediately let go, but there was no relief. One thick arm encircled his waist, pinning him close, making him ride out the intense wave of sensation that followed as his circulation returned. His free hand insistently swatted Reed's away to keep him from alleviating the sharp pain. Reed was dimly aware that he was panting, that both his hands had found Jack's cock and had set to work intently stroking it.

"That's good," Jack said, voice a soothing rumble. He put his hands back on Reed's chest, palming the muscle, rubbing the fabric of his shirt over his nipples. Reed hissed. The gentle touch was maddening. "Tell me what you want."

"You -- you really think you could make me come just from that, don't you."

"If I had a way to hold you still, sure. I mean, you didn't even bother opening your own pants. You went straight for mine."

Reed looked down. Yeah. Sure enough. He brought one of his hands to his mouth and curiously tasted Jack's precome. He didn't miss the heat in his black eyes or the way they tracked his every movement. "Damn, you really did want me to suck you off."

"Thought about it a couple times." Jack leaned back and made room to lift Reed's shirt. They both observed the dark flush of color over his chest, the redness and stiffness of his nipples. "About how much you don't care about breathing..."

Reed swallowed. "You wanna take this somewhere else? Bedroom?"

"Honestly," Jack admitted, "I can't get my mind off of getting you against a wall and fucking your throat."

"One track mind."

One track body, too. Jack surged upward underneath him, standing, but didn't dislodge him. Just gathered him against his chest and carried him upstairs. Reed thought about those powerful legs giving his pride a run for its money, but Jack had plans other than letting him get carried away with his thoughts. He snaked a hand up Reed's shirt, found his nipple again, and sharply tugged.

"Fuck!"

"The night's young," Jack said, grinning. "What do you think? I could tie you up, put you on my cock, and make you bounce on it while I play with your tits..."

Reed couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted something that badly. "That sounds, uh. Amazing, actually. But I gotta pass."

"Places to be?"

"C'mon, man, I don't know you well enough to come to your house and go full-on bondage mode with you."

"Damn," Jack said. He let go of the tormented flesh between his fingers, but seemed more than happy to keep stimulating it. He swallowed the groan that escaped Reed when the pain spiked again, mindful of his injured mouth. "I was kind of hoping you did."

It took Reed a moment to find his voice. "How about I let you know when I'm up for that?"

Jack nodded against his mouth and tenderly licked the coppery burn of the split in Reed's lip. It felt amazing, stinging and terrible, filthy like a promise. "Yeah. I got a question, though."

"Shoot."

And then shit went sideways. Jack threw him onto the bed, effortless, effortless the way he did everything. He didn't follow, just let Reed hit the mattress and watched him reach for his bearings and then recover. When Reed stilled under him, patient but alert, waiting for his next move, Jack turned a bemused smile on him.

"You don't want to play that way, and I respect that, but the other night you let me fuck you from behind with my hands around your neck. You realize I'm a lot stronger than you, right?"

Reed smiled. It was sincere. "I'm not worried. I can take you if I have to."

"As long as you're comfortable," Jack said.

"See, that's the thing." Reed leaned back, the picture of relaxation, and tucked his hands lazily behind his head. "I don't want you to make me comfortable."

"No?"

"I want you to fuck me up."

He smiled, body loose and relaxed, as Jack descended on him. Heavy thighs pinned his legs to the bed as Jack sat in his lap. Jack opened his belt, his pants, chuckled at his lack of underwear, and left him that way: exposed, untouched, leaking precome all over. "You're a mess."

"Yeah." And that was the last fully-coherent thing he said. Jack shoved at his shirt to clear a path -- and this time it was his mouth that closed around Reed's nipple, dragging on it with hot, wet suction, giving it a punishing bite that made Reed's toes curl and wrenched a cry from his throat. Jack caged him in with his body, giving his other nipple equally rough treatment with one clever fucking hand, and didn't react when Reed's fingers buried in his hair and yanked.

It didn't move him an inch.

Reed cried out his denial, pulling harder, but Jack wasn't having it -- and when Reed reached for his cock, desperately seeking relief, needing a counterpoint to the focused, pinpoint pain, he found his wrist held fast to the bed. Jack disengaged his mouth with an audible pop. The cool air on his tender skin made him quietly sob.

"You want someone to make you cry, Gavin?"

"Like to see you try it."

"I already told you." Jack licked the swollen, red peak of his nipple, soothing it with warm breath, and worried the very tip with his teeth and tongue. It sucked a broken cry out of Reed's lungs. Made him see stars. It was too intense. "If you want to cry, I can make you cry. You can do whatever I make you do. And the best part..."

Reed shook his head to clear it, already drowning in sensation. "What?"

"I'm not going to force you to. You're going to do it because you want to do it." The statement was final, and Jack returned his mouth to its task after the smallest detour to lick the sweat from the center of Reed's chest. Reed shook apart under him, trapped under Jack's considerable weight, cursing up a storm and hiccuping back pleas. He cast around desperately, looking for a clock, something, any way to know how long it had been, but the shades were drawn and the bedside clock was turned to face the wall -- like Jack had planned this out. All he could hear over his own ragged breathing was the sound of wet, incessant suckling, a humiliating reminder of his absolute inability to say no to himself.

And right when Reed thought he couldn't take another second, when his blood felt like it was ready to dissolve,

Jack switched sides.

The moment his cruel fingers tightly grabbed -- and failed to grasp -- the spit-slick, puffy mess of his nipple, sliding off in a sharp shot of hot sensation, a twisted pleasure that made his dick pulse with need, Reed choked on a sob. It took two more tries for Jack to latch on, thumb and forefinger shoved deep into the muscle of his chest to maintain a solid grip. It was maddening. He thrashed again, kicked under the immovable weight of that beautiful son of a bitch, feeling a few tears leak from the corners of his eyes. He struggled to hold them back.

But that wasn't enough for Jack. He brushed them away and tasted them, smiling, enjoying Reed's ragged breathing.

"Like you mean it," he said, and closed his mouth meanly over his other nipple. He bit, sharp and sweet, making Reed howl and shove at his head again. Just like before, it got him nowhere. He clawed at Jack's shoulders, pulled on his hair, but Jack's hands and weight and mouth were stronger than his whole body.

The realization that he was stuck there, helpless, defenseless, should have made him panic -- and it did. Just not in the way that he expected. _Stop,_ was what he should have wanted to say. Jack was right. It made no sense. It went against logic. It made his cock swell and throb, and he felt his hole screw up tight with both protective reflex and the need to be filled -- the need to be stretched around something he had no control over. He knew he was cursing, repeating Jack's name, encouraging him, and the confusing shame of not wanting what he should have wanted was terrible.

And when he felt Jack pet his trembling stomach, soothing him down into the expensive sheets, it turned out he'd been right. If Jack wanted to make him cry, all Reed had to do was let him. It felt amazing, terrible, for something in his throat to unknot. He gave in and pushed back, curved his chest to the torment of Jack's mouth, and was rewarded for it with Jack's free hand sliding under him to hold him hostage there. Hot, freeing tears streaked down his face, and he quaked, he was so close he could taste it --

Jack picked up to observe the way Reed's hands obediently clenched in the sheets, over his head, willingly exposing himself. Reed wanted it -- needed it -- cried for the repeated, sadistic flick of Jack's fingers as he drove him crazy, drove him over the edge --

"There you go," Jack cooed, watching him finally lose control. He released his nipples to reach down and milk him through his orgasm, intensifying it, prolonging it. He was smiling, proud of himself for having gotten exactly what he said he would.

Reed slowly regained some measure of clarity and tried to stifle his tears. He couldn't stop. Couldn't hide, either. When he tried to cover his face, Jack caught him by the wrists. "Let me see," he said.

"Fuck," Reed choked. "Fuck you, man."

"Yeah, I know."

"God, what the fuck."

"You okay?"

Reed shook his head. "I can't," he tried. "I need..."

Those black eyes glittered with understanding.

"Okay," Jack said, gently pushing Reed onto his stomach. He barely paused to slick up his cock before lining up with Reed's unstretched hole and _pressing._ Reed buried his face in his arm and sobbed, more than happy to let Jack wreck his overstimulated body. To come in him and continue to fuck him, slick and sloppy, until he begged for Jack to help him come a second time. Jack obliged by dragging him upright, into his lap, and languidly fucked another tearful orgasm out of him.

There was more, but Reed's mind was blank with pleasure, with discomfort, with the acute feeling of Jack's hands on his body -- no longer holding him down, but supporting him, letting him slump against Jack's chest and ride him into exhaustion.

By the end of it all Reed was shaking like a leaf, tucked into Jack's overlarge bed, eyes closed. He could barely remember how he'd gotten there. He felt like he'd just run a marathon. Jack cleaned him up like he was made of glass and handed him a measure of high quality whiskey, deep amber, viscous, cut how he liked it. He dropped into bed alongside Reed and casually soothed the strain out of his muscles.

"You did good," he quietly murmured. Reed took a deep pull from his drink and let the bitter burn of it linger on his tongue.

"God," he replied, voice just as low. "You fucked me up."

"Is this what you're after every time you need to get off, or am I just lucky?"

"When you find someone as good at that as you are," Reed said, "you take what you can get while you can get it."

"What, like I'm going somewhere?"

"This isn't permanent, y'know?" Reed chanced a look over at him. "I mean, we were pretty clear on that."

"I'm not looking for a relationship," Jack agreed. "But this is... really good." He reached out and touched Reed's sweat-sticky face. Reed let him. The intimacy felt strange. "Really informative. I definitely like being on this side of it." He took the empty whiskey glass from Reed and pulled his limp body closer to kiss him, slow and deep, careful of his split lip.

"Is it weird if I stay the night?"

Jack laughed. "Nah. I really don't think you're in, uh, any condition to drive right this minute."

Reed shook his head, smiling. CyberLife tried to influence the global economy and all they did was churn out a diet daddy dom. Jack considered him and got up, still naked. Reed took a moment to appreciate the view. "Where you going?"

"Getting you some calories. You're shaking."

"I am not." Reed looked down at his hand and was surprised to see that it was, in fact, trembling. "Oh."

"That's right, Officer, I know what's up."

Reed settled back in the bed, watching him go. _Man, CyberLife really was full of perverts, huh. There is zero reason for him to look like that._ He could hear Jack descend the stairs, cross the house, enter the kitchen. He thought about checking his phone, but -- damn, right, his phone was in his jacket, which was probably somewhere in Jack's living room. Maybe in the car. It didn't matter. He wasn't going to let something like work interrupt his afterglow. He just settled back into the expensive bedding and let his mind wander.

He fell asleep before Jack returned, but it wasn't galaxy-black eyes he had in mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all mind if i... fall over?
> 
> those of you who are owed an art piece via my [support](https://itsdefinitive.tumblr.com/post/179201182822/support) page, they're almost done! i'll link them on that page when they're ready.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MESSAGE LOG
> 
> TINA CHEN, 18:55  
>  _gavin did you clock out early u turd_  
>  _unbelievable_

_i dreamt about you near me every night this week_  
_how many secrets can you keep?_  
__  
(arctic monkeys - do i wanna know?)  


  


  


  


talking to you, asshole! where

His perception faded in, foggy, in bits and  
pieces

and even  
though he knows he isn't really there, it's a dream -- god, it better only  
be a dream, he can't cope with the choking certainty that something terrible is about to happen. _He already knows what happens. It isn't going to be any different._

_It's never any different._

_See? He's turning around right now -- Connor, down the corridor, only_ it's not Connor.

It isn't Connor.

Is it? 

Gavin can't stop himself from pressing forward. He can do nothing to alter his jerky,

time skipping course of action. He has his gun in hand.

He doesn't know why.

Connor is staring at him coldly. Connor's blue eyes are full of disdain. Gavin _hates_ this mother fucker. He wants nothing more than to put a bullet through his head.

off the case

And Gavin tends to get what he wants.

But Connor (it isn't Connor) knows what he's dealing with. And Connor (not Connor) is standing over him at a steel table in the middle of the room, hard hands clean and full of ready pain. The rough grit of the parking lot is cold and wet under Gavin's palms. Wet with snow, wet with blue, wet with blood. And the truly wild thing is, Connor (no) is moving in on him, reaching out to him, fingers stained red. 

Gavin's face hurts. He doesn't know what's going on. He wants to shy away from the man looming over him, clothes dark enough to hide the thirium that turn his shirtfront a slightly darker black. There's nowhere to go. He tips his face up, instead, offering its ugly, bloodied contents.

_do whatever the fuck you want_

He isn't Connor, but he reaches down anyway, eyes clear with anger, with no more than four millimeters between Gavin and whatever lay behind them. They are filled with an indistinguishability from the real thing.

And his hand stops just short of Gavin's chest, dripping a mixture of red and blue that don't intermingle, that _plip plip plip_ of thick fluid dripping onto his clothes and sinking in cold. 

Gavin tries to move -- to accept the hand? to knock it away? he isn't sure -- because he can't. He can't move an inch. His hand is stuck fast to the ground. He looks

at his wrist.

there is a white 

pl̡̪̹͉̺͖a̤̬̞̦̦͠s͏͕̼ͅt̖̗̭̝i̜c̷ 

h͚͍̝͜ą̻̳͘͠n̸̥̻̠̘̞̪͘d͏̺̙͇͍̬  


holding him fast to the ground 

and he tries to get up but there's another one on his ankle, stronger than steel,  
holding him to the black void that the ground has become.

The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach becomes more literal than figurative. He looks up at the man standing over him.

He couldn't reach up to take that hand if he wanted to. Not with the insurmountable weight dragging him through the pavement.

He desperately, desperately wants to.

But the pale-eyed man standing over him has only one thing to say to him before he turns away.

"You could be so much more."

Gavin's mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

The hands close in.

\---

Reed woke with a start to the sensation of a warm mouth in the sensitive space between his shoulderblades. Jack's hands were solid on his hips, holding him close, and Reed could feel the thickness of his erection pressed against the back of his thigh.

"Good," Jack murmured against his skin. "You're awake."

"Kinda," Reed replied, and quietly huffed as Jack shifted to pet his dick. "You better not get any ideas right now."

"Already got an idea," Jack said, and kissed his spine. It tingled.

"Hell, no. You already had your fun."

"Not gonna fuck you," Jack said. He was smiling. Reed could feel it past the kiss Jack pressed lower on his back. "Just want to see how you're doing."

"What do you--"

How did someone with such a steady, deliberate demeanor manage to surprise him every time?

Jack reached down and palmed Reed's ass, both hands, and spread him open. "Oh," he murmured. "Pretty." He brushed the skin there, the soft, overheated swell of it, fingers careful. "You're so warm."

And Reed froze, disbelieving, as Jack's open mouth came in full contact with his hole. He kissed it sweetly, unbothered by Reed's startled shout, teasing the friction-tender opening with his tongue until it gave way. The slick heat was too intense for Reed to handle. He immediately lost all sense of decorum and howled as Jack's tongue muscled its way into him, swirling and soothing as deeply as it could reach. His life was _over._ There was absolutely nothing that could top the sensation of the cruel bastard behind him laving spit, or the android equivalent of spit, into his still-primed hole.

"Oh, fuck," he breathed, rocking back against Jack's face. He quietly whined at the unyielding stamina of his tongue. He wanted more already, heart thundering in his ears, at full near-painful hardness in just moments. "Please, please..."

 _"'Please, please,_ ' what?"

"Need more." Reed shifted and pulled a knee closer to his chest, shamelessly exposing himself. He felt Jack react, _felt_ the unchecked groan he released vibrate inside of his body.

Jack agonizingly withdrew. His mouth and chin were indecently slick, shiny in the pre-dawn light. "I'll hurt you if I fuck you," he objected. "Why don't you just have a seat and let me take care of you?"

Reed nodded, dazed, barely sure of what he was agreeing to. Jack encouraged him up, up, onto his knees, and shifted under him. When he pulled Reed back down to sit it was to unceremoniously impale his twitching hole with his eager tongue.

A jolt of pleasure shot up Reed's spine. Jack grabbed him by the hip and held him there on his mouth, at his mercy, while he passionately set to work making Reed cry again with an overpowering rush of sensation. Reed swore he could feel the barest hint of stubble. It didn't take very long at all for him to double over himself, sobbing, tormented with pleasure while Jack held him fast. He pushed the brunt of his weight down, _down,_ gasping when Jack obligingly pressed his tongue deeper, and reflexively jerked himself through a sudden and powerful orgasm.

Jack gently pushed him forward. Reed couldn't hold himself up -- his legs were shaking, thighs burning, and the sloppy sucking noise that resulted from Jack freeing his tongue sent a wave of embarrassment through him. He lay on Jack's stomach in the sticky pool of his own come, struggling to draw breath. Clearing his head seemed impossible, especially with Jack's cock at full mast inches from his face, dripping, inviting. Reed unthinkingly reached out to stroke it.

"Go ahead," Jack said, shifting under him. He patted Reed firmly on the flank and chuckled when he flinched. "You want me to come on your face?"

"Yeah," Reed murmured.

"Yeah, I know." Jack's voice was soothing. He relaxed, thighs spreading in an invitation that casually drove the length of his cock against Reed's cheek. "Can you do something for me?"

Reed nodded. He was distantly aware of Jack carefully adjusting him so they were stomach to stomach. His whole body sang with sated pleasure as his overstimulated dick rubbed against Jack's chest.

"I want to see you again."

"You--"

"Hold yourself open."

Reed made a distressed sound, but he did as he was told: reached back with his unoccupied hand to take hold of the muscle of his ass, and gingerly pulled. God. It felt amazing. The stretch and burn of the most sensitive part of his body, held open for someone else to look at, to judge -- Jack hummed his approval. He reached out without warning and threatened the softened pucker with his thumb. It was wet; with spit or with his own come, Reed couldn't tell, but it made him keen and shiver and rub the head of Jack's cock against his parted lips despite the stinging pain of his injury.

Jack reached down to help him, adjusting him as though he weighed nothing, and stroked his cock with an intensity that seemed spurred on by the quiet, hungry sounds Reed was mouthing against him. Reed watched the -- the _skin_ of his hand flicker away -- white flashed on his knuckles, on his fingertips, and then burst against Reed's cheek, into his open mouth, hot and salty, a perfect imitation of the real thing. Jack's other hand squeezed his ass as he rode out his orgasm, thumb hooked casually into his overworked hole. Reed imagined the same thing happening back there: white plastic casing sparking into view, nearly frictionless in texture. No give. In a sensory haze, Reed licked him clean, reveling in the sticky settle of come on his face.

He only came to his senses, to some distant cousin of awareness, when Jack released him and carefully dumped him on his back. The bed shifted; Jack's weight disappeared. A strange and intangible measure of time passed before his return. When he did, it was to run a damp-warm cloth over Reed's skin until he'd wrung a pleased sigh from him.

"You awake in there?"

"Fuck, no."

Jack quietly laughed and settled next to him, pulling the sheets back up to block them from the outside world. The faint light from the window was snuffed under the expensive cotton. "So, it was good?"

"Jack," Reed slurred, finding his big shoulder in the blind dark. He stopped himself just short of saying something undignified. "...yeah. I don't ever want to move again."

Another quiet laugh gently shook the bed and the tension drained out of Jack's body. "Good," he said. Reed could hear his smile. In proximity to someone less jaded, it may have even been contagious.

\---

Sunlight poured over Reed's eyes and disturbed him from his coma-like state.

Sun?

He panicked for a moment before remembering it wasn't a work day. Fuck. His heart was hammering in his chest. He sank back into the bed and looked over. Jack was next to him, eyes closed, looking for all the world like he was asleep. His chest gently rose and fell. Good thing, too. If it weren't for the simulated breathing he'd look like he was dead.

He carefully levered himself out of the bed, not wanting to wake -- disturb? -- Jack, and fought to keep his balance. He was dizzy. Dehydrated as fuck, mostly. He had to use the handrail when he padded downstairs to look for his jacket. It was on the couch, right where he'd ditched it in his rush to get laid. He rifled through it for his phone and tapped the screen to life. Nine missed texts, three missed calls, mainly from Tina. A regular Sunday, all told. 

CALL LOG

Missed Call: TINA CHEN, 15:35  
Missed Call: TINA CHEN, 17:49  
Missed Call: CONNOR 2: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO, 22:43

MESSAGE LOG

TINA CHEN, 18:55  
_gavin did you clock out early u turd_  
_unbelievable_

TINA CHEN, 19:38  
_didn't we have plans???_

TINA CHEN, 19:39  
_i feel like we had plans_  
_your loss!!!_  
_unless u want to hang out so like... text me lmao_

TINA CHEN, 21:13  
_i'm at blue oyst*r where are you??? did we plan anything i don't remember_

TINA CHEN, 22:19  
_well i guess somebody's off getting JACKED hahaha bitch text me back_

CONNOR 2: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO, 22:43  
_Another case. Will update you Tuesday._

TINA CHEN, 00:15  
_ok love you call me_

Reed groaned quietly and helped himself to some water. His throat was dry. Raw. He reflexively took inventory of the refrigerator, trying to piece together the mystery of Jack's situation. Orange juice, half a dozen eggs, butter. Several other sundries with a long refrigeration life. A few blue bottles tucked into the back of the bottom shelf, out of immediate view. The text on the label was small enough to be indecipherable without removing one for closer inspection. Thirium, probably. He'd heard that oral replenishment was possible. _So he just keeps it in the fucking fridge like a Capri Sun? Gross._

All told, the kitchen was perfectly reasonable for the home of an android who occasionally brought home a human conquest and might need to cook them breakfast or steady their blood sugar. The supply was short but crucial, much more thoughtfully stocked than Reed's house: bagged vegetables in the freezer. Oatmeal and generic cereal in the pantry, grouped on a singular shelf with dry items like boxed milk and a few cans of food. Reed had never considered how a human space might need to be adapted to fit an android's needs. It surprised him to see that the majority of the pantry space was stocked with -- equipment? Some of the boxes bore the CyberLife logo. Others were in generic-looking boxes, but were similarly shaped. They were definitely categorized, but not in a way Reed could make sense of. They ranged in size from smaller than an engagement ring box to larger than a box for snow boots. He wondered if they were all for Jack's model, or if he kept other spares on hand. It looked like quite the sizeable collection, though he had no basis for comparison.

He poured himself a glass of orange juice to explain away any evidence of his snooping. Exposure to Richard had shown him that even seemingly miniscule disturbances could be obvious to a mechanical eye. It was wild how something manmade could perceive so much more than a man could see.

TINA CHEN, 09:42  
_hey gavin look at me_

Reed glanced down at his phone and swiped the message preview away. If Tina suspected he was paying someone a house call, she needed to do a better fucking job of leaving him to it. For all she knew he was in the middle of getting railed. Less than a minute later the phone buzzed in his hand again.

TINA CHEN, 09:43  
_bitch_

 _TINA,_ he texted her back, scowling. _HUSH_

_he lives!!!_  
_did you really not see my messages or what. i'm hella hung over man_

_I told you to stop drinking by yourself._ After a moment of deliberation, he sent the text. He quietly crept through the kitchen, grateful that the blinds were drawn. In a neighborhood like this, though, he supposed pedestrians gawking in the window was a lot less likely. Despite the small meal Jack had brought up to him the night before, he was completely drained -- his entire body was pleasantly sore, and the dully throbbing pain that pulsed in his ass made every careless step a reminder of exactly how easily Jack had taken him apart.

It was a good reminder.

Something in the benched part of Reed's mind, something in the shit-ain't-right quadrant, sparked to life. It was annoying, but the down time with Jack had really cleared his head and set him to thinking about the case. _Biocomponents. What if there's a similarity there? They can trade compatible biocomponents sometimes, right? Maybe that's something to think about._

He downed the orange juice and strongly considered calling Richard back, or at least texting him, but Jack's strong arms wrapped around his waist and dragged him against that broad chest.

"Shit," Reed gasped. His chest hurt like his heart had skipped a few beats.

"Didn't mean to sneak up on you," Jack said, mouth hot against his ear. "Okay, maybe I did. You just look so good hanging around naked in my kitchen."

Reed sighed quietly, taken in immediately, and let Jack push him against the countertop. The warmth and solidity of his body behind him sent blood rushing to his dick. "God. You're trying to kill me, aren't you."

"You're a hot piece of ass, Gavin. It's hard to look but not touch." He ground his hips firmly against Reed's backside, making him quietly sob.

"I can't," Reed protested. Jack bit his ear, fogged up his head, made it impossible to think. He could feel his resolve melting away.

Twenty minutes later, they were both in agreement that he _could._ Jack carefully stroked his hair back from his sweat-streaked face and grinned against the back of his neck. Reed whined quietly as he withdrew and dragged a rush of come out along with his cock. The hot leak down his thigh set him panting like a dog. It piqued Jack's interest. The bastard pushed his thighs apart and slid his fingers through the white streak.

"Don't worry," Jack said. "We'll figure out what you can take. Trial and error." He stuffed his fingers back into Reed and laughed quietly at the way it made him kick and moan and try in vain to thrash Jack off of him.

But he didn't say no.

He didn't want it to stop.

It felt like hours before Jack was able to drag another tormented orgasm from him. He shot his second load against the cabinet he was pressed to, overlapping the first, and immediately started to cry. It was just too much. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to stop, but it was like he didn't have any control over what he was doing. He had no choice but to buckle over the counter to support his weight.

"All right. I think you're done." Jack caught him as his knees gave out and gathered him up, just as easily as he had the night before. "You want to go back upstairs?"

Reed weakly shrugged. Did it matter? He was safe, there. Jack could throw him around and fuck him over every surface in the house, for all he cared -- he'd welcome it.

_just let him_

_you don't need to be in charge, here_

He closed his eyes and _just let_ Jack take him back to his bedroom and put him away in the bed. Jack courteously turned on a radio and let Reed put his face against the pillow to bask in his lack of control. An eternity passed before he returned.

"I got a call. Gotta go to work. You gonna stick around?"

As much as he wanted to, Reed shook his head.

"Cool. Text me when you're free again, huh?" Jack's hand brushed his back and left him sighing. As quietly as he'd come in, he left.

In the distance, a car door closed.

It took Reed another twenty minutes to find the strength to pry himself out of bed. Without a limit on his time, he took a long, hot shower, letting the jets of water soothe the soreness out of his neck and back. He was in no rush to get out into the bone-chilling cold. Drying off and putting his clothes back on was slow going. He didn't leave Jack's house until nearly noon, and even then, he didn't go to his own apartment.

Instead, he climbed into his car, cranked the heat and the radio, and drove straight to Tina's.

He knocked, but there was no answer. He looked around. Her car was in the driveway. Reed shrugged and let himself in unannounced with his spare key. There was the woman of the hour: sprawled asleep on her sofa, belly-up, two empty wine bottles on the table. The television was on, but muted, tuned to what had probably been comedy news but was now an infomercial.

"Tina," he said.

Nothing. Not even a wiggle. He opened a window to dissipate some of the overwhelmingly fruity wine smell. "Tina," he said again.

Still nothing. Reed's blood abruptly ran cold. Was she breathing? Had she fucking drank herself into a stupor and died because he was too selfish to answer a text message? He approached the couch slowly and reached out with one trembling hand to shake her shoulder.

"FUCK," she immediately shouted.

"Jesus, Tina!"

"What?!" Tina thrashed until she was sitting up and clutched at her head. She was naked from at least the waist up. "Ugh, my head..."

"I thought you -- never mind. Are you okay?"

"I mean, I'm hung over from drinking this wine by myself and I think I just had a heart attack because of your dumb ass, but other than that..."

Reed collapsed on the couch next to her.

"You could at least get me some water," she groused.

"Yeah, after I get my blood pressure back down."

Tina blearily rubbed at her eyes and patted down her sleep-rumpled hair. "You go to your boyfriend's house last night?"

"Can you not?"

"Whatever. Did you go to your _fuck buddy's_ house last night, Princess Reed? You look like you haven't slept in a week."

"Fuck you, I feel great."

She frowned, suspicious. "Were you -- have you been crying?"

Reed scowled and avoided eye contact. "Not in a bad way."

"You're such a fucking bottom."

"Anyway, I'm glad you're not dead."

"Did you think I was dead? You're the one that wouldn't check your phone. Although, now that I know why..."

He pried himself up from the couch before she could throw her feet across his lap and headed into the kitchen to get her some water, painkillers, and a snack. And a wet rag for her face. And the television remote, which was inexplicably propped up on the back of the kitchen sink.

"Are you mad at me, or something?"

"What? No, why?" He plopped the cool, damp rag right on her bare chest. She whined, annoyed.

"I don't know, we just haven't been hanging out lately."

"We've been hanging out a normal amount. You always get like this if I fuck a guy more than once."

"You stayed the night at his house. Twice."

Reed unwrapped the cereal bar he'd fished out of the bowl on the counter -- strawberry, so as not to clash with her disgusting wine breath -- and crammed it into her mouth. "You're the one that practically shoved me into his lap. You want me to get laid, or not?"

"Mrph."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Your house is a fucking mess, babe."

She chewed, struggling through it, in typical Tina need to get a word in if something was said to her. Swallowed. Coughed. Winced. Downed some of the water Reed had been generous enough to bring her, followed by the painkillers, followed by more water. "I've been busy," she finally coughed.

"Busy drinking."

"Okay, Mr. Please-Stick-It-In,-Holy-Shit,-Fuck-It's-So-Big--"

"I butt dialed you _one time--"_

"I think _he_ butt dialed me, if you really think about it.

"Eat your fucking breakfast. Are you at least wearing underwear?"

"Nah."

"Cool. Gross."

"I wasn't expecting you to come over." She sighed and pried herself off the couch, wrapping the blanket around her like a towel as she stood. "God, my head hurts."

"You should go back to sleep. In bed."

"Nah," she yawned. "Jordan left all the sheets and stuff. I hate being in there."

Reed followed her toward the bathroom. "You thinking about selling the house?"

"Thinking about it pretty big time."

"You should do it," he said. "What's the worst that happens, you pick out a place you're just kind of neutral about?"

Tina sniffled and slowed her pace so she could lean back against him in an incomplete hug. "Thanks, Gav. I think that girl I invited to your place is a realtor. I'll ask her."

"That's not..."

But she was in the bathroom and running the water before he could finish his sentence. He closed the door behind her and went to the kitchen to get her something more substantial than a cereal bar.

Unfortunately, her refrigerator was emptier than Jack's. There was a mostly-consumed gallon of milk two days past its expiry. He trashed it. There was a partially-consumed watered-down cup of fast food iced tea. It smelled disgusting; he trashed it. There was an opened and partially-consumed zip-top bag of slimy turkey breast but no bread in the cabinet, an incorrectly closed block of cheese with air-exposure hardness at the edges, and a single-serve yogurt tub that had gone out of date while Tina was on vacation. All disgusting. He trashed them and took out the garbage, came back inside, and ordered a pizza.

The water cut off, so Reed went to the bathroom door to harass Tina. "Pizza's on the way," he called. "I'm taking you grocery shopping tonight. Your fridge was a fucking train wreck."

"Aren't you motivated," she grumbled. "I hate when you get laid." She emerged in a fluffy robe and muscled past him as she scrubbed the towel over her head.

"You're just jealous. Not sure why, either, it's not like you've been in a dry spell."

She threw her wet towel at him and stormed into her bedroom.

Reed left her alone until the pizza arrived.

Tina descended the stairs in a much better mood once she heard their dinner arrive. With her she was toting three enormous garbage bags. They were thick, black plastic, and looked big enough to weigh more than Tina altogether the way they were stuffed to the brim. She dragged them outside in the freezing rain that had just begun to spit and dumped them off at the curb.

"What the hell was all that?"

"Jordan's clothes. I told her to pick it up and she never came and got it."

"You sure you wanna throw it out? What if she sues you?"

"That gold digging bitch would have to figure out how to pony up for a lawyer without my paycheck in her pocket. Since when are you the voice of reason, anyway?"

"Can you please eat a calorie?"

Tina dropped onto the couch and snagged a slice of pizza for herself. "Thanks, Gav."

Between the two of them they demolished half the pizza before silently agreeing to go to the store. He drove them to the closest market and, mindful of her hangover, steered her through the fluorescent lighting to the bare minimum she'd need to survive for the week. Very few perishables and lots of instant food. After all --

"You don't have to stay in that fuckin' house right now if you don't want to, T."

She looked up at him and immediately the waterworks began. "Really?"

"Shit, yeah. I got a spare bedroom if you want privacy. It's not putting me out."

Tina threw her arms around him and he nearly dropped a half-gallon of milk on her foot.

"You also don't have to hug me, like, in public."

"Worried people will think you're straight?"

"Not a chance," he said, smiling. He still disentangled himself and herded her toward the cash register. She insistently paid for her groceries before he could sympathetically swipe his card.

"Quit being so helpful."

"C'mon. Let's drop this crap off at your place, grab the pizza, and go drink some feelings."

"What, you mean, like, go out?"

"Fuck that. I got my shit _wrecked_ today. You're lucky I've been upright this long. No, we're gonna go watch movies in bed and destroy some mimosas."

Tina was silent until they were most of the way to Reed's house. He kept glancing over, checking on her, trying not to be too obvious about it. She didn't even seem to notice. Tina wasn't a detective, sure, but she really should have been. She must have been in pretty dire straits to be that lost in thought.

But the cold rain seemed to be sapping some of the headache out of her body, and the darkness overtaking the sun had to be a relief.

"She took the dog," Tina finally said as Reed pulled into his usual parking space.

"She--"

Tina exited the car without saying anything else and walked briskly toward the house. When the orange cat slinked off the stoop, looking alarmed by her presence, she stopped dead. They stood with similar energy, at an impasse, neither knowing which way to run. Reed walked up alongside her, slow, careful, not wanting to cause either of them to spring into action. He put a hand on Tina's shoulder.

"Stop running from it," he said, and passed her by, keys jingling. "Kitty. Kitty, kitty."

They both relaxed. The cat let Reed drop a heavy hand on its head and threw itself down, tail twitching, clearly upset it hadn't gotten any food or attention the night before.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be right back out, drama queen."

Tina timidly slid by the cat rather than try to pet it. Timid wasn't like her. Reed tried not to let his worry show. She was armed only with the suitcases she'd brought, and she dumped those in the living room. There was a long moment where she visibly gathered herself, and then she cleared the thick tearfulness from her throat with a quiet cough. "So, uh, movie night."

"Yeah, here." He shoved a bowl of cat food into her hands.

"What--"

"Feed him."

She frowned down at the bowl in her hands. "Okay..."

"You want him to like you? Give him something."

"God, you two are just the same," she muttered.

He left her to it and dug some unopened triple sec out of the back of one of the closets. He had never been crazy about the stuff, had only bought it to entertain an ex he hadn't seen in more than a year, so it felt like as good a time as any to crack it open. He only kept sparkling wine in the house for Tina anyway. Two gigantic mimosas later he returned to the front door to find Tina scrunched on the concrete against the house, gingerly stroking the cat's back as it ate. "All right, break it up," he said, feigning jealousy.

"He's so soft, Gav."

"Yeah, he takes baths in the fucking rain three times a week."

"You should let him inside."

"He's his own man. He'll come in if he feels like it." Sure enough, the cat wasn't making any attempt to enter the wide-open front door. "Can you come inside before the electric company shows up and mugs me?"

Tina sighed wistfully and joined him inside, looking put out that the cat made no attempt to follow. "Okay. You wanna take this party upstairs?"

"Yeah. Lock the door and get the rest of the pizza."

It wasn't long before they were both stupidly giggling, flopped back in Reed's bed. Tina was more than happy to finish his drink when he couldn't push through it, overpowered as he was by the sweetness. She eventually slid down and fell asleep, looking at least marginally less miserable, the movie forgotten. Reed disentangled himself from her lazy grasp and left to get in the shower. He ran the water almost intolerably hot. Jack had really done a number on him. He was stiff, his joints crying for mercy the way _he_ should have had the sense to with that fucking monster dick turning him inside out. The heat stung the soreness out of his body, and the alcohol left him in a pleasant haze.

He didn't get out until the water ran cold.

He rubbed his hair dry and scowled at what he could see of himself through the fogged-up mirror. There was a singular silvery strand of hair threaded across his temple, difficult to get his fingers on. He finally grasped it and separated it from the rest of his hair to trim it down near the skin. Grey. He was going grey. He was going to just keep fucking deteriorating, slowing down and crumbling away, while Richard and Connor --

His back ached. His _insides_ ached. It felt like an iron rod had been shoved up his ass. In a manner of speaking, he supposed it had. He enviously thought about Connor and Richard, both in their eternal ambiguous early thirties, and twisted to crack his back. It gave with a sickening, satisfying _thunk._

Head swimming, Reed made his way to his office. He was more sober than he'd expected. Maybe he'd drifted off earlier, too. He pulled open his filling cabinet and contemplated the printouts he'd accessed.

They were all for the human victims.

"Shit," he muttered, hating to consider that Richard had been right. He flicked through the files at his disposal. No, it was clear what his priorities had been. 

His pride.

Not the case at all.

Reed swayed into a chair, pulled out a notebook, and started writing. By the time he was out of ammunition, an hour and a half had passed. It felt strange. He usually hated writing. He surveyed his chicken scratch, scribbled out a few obvious redundancies, and put the notebook aside to reward himself with a cigarette.

The cat's bowl was empty. Reed couldn't help but smile at the way Tina had carefully placed it, perfectly centered under the mailbox, with a comfortable amount of room left for the cat to lounge. Seeing her use a delicate touch on something that wasn't another woman was rare, to say the least. He had no idea how she made it through an ordinary day when she seemed to be keyed into some frequency only other women could hear -- some kind of lesbian wavelength that carried special information.

Information.

Carrying special information?

Without stopping to think about what time of night it was, his level of intoxication, or the fact that he'd never called his partner before, he whipped his cell phone out and dialed the entry for CONNOR 2: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO.

\-- At three in the morning.

 _Well, shit,_ he thought as his phone connected to the network. He could hardly back out of the call at that point, or Richard would be suspicious. Fuck. _Fuck._ Richard answered the line in less than a second. _Shit._

"Detective Reed?" His voice was unnaturally clear. Reed winced. At least he didn't sound like he'd been woken up.

 _Wait, what am I saying? He doesn't sleep._ Or did he? Reed couldn't get the picture out of his mind of Jack at rest, body still, eyes closed and moving naturally as though deeply dreaming. He cleared his throat.

"Yeah, look, sorry, I didn't realize what time it was when I called."

"I wasn't asleep. Is there an emergency?"

"No, I just thought of something when I was going through my files."

There was a long pause. "I thought today was your day off."

"Yeah, well, justice never sleeps."

"Are you intoxicated?"

"A little."

"Okay," hedged Richard, the most uncertain Reed had ever heard him. "Why were you calling?"

"Thirium residue can tell you a lot, right? With a fresh enough sample?"

"Thirium carries quite a lot of information, yes. Serial numbers, registered name, date and time of last reboot or reset..."

"How intimate are we talking, here? On the serial numbers. What makes a biocomponent compatible with what you've already got going on?"

"Software, hardware, firmware. The list goes on, Reed. It would be more graspable for you if I were to forward you some literature." He could picture Richard's thoughtful frown. "I think it might be more time-efficient to just tell me your theory."

"You can switch biocomponents around, right? If they're compatible, I mean." Reed adjusted the phone against his ear and took a drag from his cigarette. When had he lit up? "Is there a biocomponent list carried in, like, the BIOS or whatever?"

"Yes, but the list is encrypted. The average person wouldn't have a way to read to the information, but any given android is potentially identifiable as an amalgamation of different serial numbers."

 _As the sum of their parts._ Reed frowned. He chewed on his lip, feeling the heat of the cigarette against his hand as it burned away without his interference. "Is there a record kept on the network when something tries to access it?"

"Only if a network is actively listening for something to record. Do you..." Richard trailed off. He sounded unsure. "You're aware there's more than one network, correct? While many networks are interconnected, some networks are strangers to each other. You would have to be looking in exactly the right place for exactly the right thing in exactly the right window. I believe the term is 'like a needle in a haystack.'"

"Yeah, and I know your comm lines are different from a regular phone network. But if you did something like try to remotely make a purchase, wouldn't your bank account have records of when and where you tried to access your money?"

"If they received the query, there's a high likelihood. Are you suggesting that the missing androids might be attempting to place encoded outbound calls?"

"Yeah. See, if I was gonna try to hide an android, I'd do it far away from shit like cell phone towers and wifi hotspots. I'd do it where I knew they wouldn't be able to get on a network. Somewhere way out in the fucking boonies."

"Reasonable."

"What would you do if you needed someone to know where you were?"

"If I couldn't get on the network?" Another long pause. Long for Richard, anyway. In reality, it only spanned a few seconds. "I don't know."

"You -- you don't know."

"I've never thought about it. In this scenario, I suppose I would make every attempt to make myself known to a network." The admittance of ignorance didn't seem to cost him anything. If anything, he sounded energized.

"Message in a bottle."

"Something like that, yes."

Reed scowled and flicked the butt of his long-cold cigarette away. Despite the warmth of the booze in his system, the chill of the outside air was starting to take its toll. But he didn't want to risk disturbing Tina by going back inside -- and he sure as _hell_ didn't want her to know he was talking to Richard in the middle of the night. "Doesn't this seem like something you should have thought of before?"

"I'm not precognitive. I'm also not in any danger. I don't have any commonalities with our victims."

"No _known_ commonalities, you mean."

Richard quietly laughed. "That's a fair point. But I can hardly picture myself starting a long-term relationship with a human. It seems unnecessarily complicated."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Humans have preconceived ideas of how androids are supposed to act. They assign us strange, contradictory motivations. Even you, someone with an understanding of how people work, think of me as someone who has predicted all possible outcomes of a situation and yet has no understanding of how the world works."

"Hey, maybe if it ever looked like you wanted to be doing what you were doing..."

"What do you mean by that?" Richard's tone was guarded. In his mind's eye, Reed could see caution-yellow lighting up the darkness of Anderson's spare bedroom.

"You act like you don't have a choice of whether or not you're here."

"We've been freed from the constraints of our programming, Detective. I have acted by choice since I woke up."

"All of your actions," Reed said, disbelievingly, "were by _choice?"_

"All of them. Many against my better judgment."

"Oh yeah? Like what?"

"Tolerating your shit," Richard said. 

" _Good night,_ asshole," Reed returned, and disconnected from the call. He exhaled a plume of smoke up at the barely-visible stars and wondered when his life had derailed into seeking validation from a god damn android.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for sticking with me so far! y'all are such a suspicious crowd. it's making writing this even more enjoyable!
> 
> here's a link to my [support](https://itsdefinitive.tumblr.com/post/179201182822/support) page -- you can also feel free to contact me through that tumblr! i'm also now on twitter @itsdefinitive.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I drunk dialed Richard last night."
> 
> Tina burst into laughter and immediately winced, clutching at her head. "Jesus Christ, Gavin."

_talking jivey poison ivy_  
_you ain't gonna cling to me_  
_man taker bone faker_  
_i ain't so blind i can't see_  
__  
([nazareth](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kyXz6eMCj2k) \- [hair of the dog](https://open.spotify.com/track/1wXE6zvNWRz8GuMfEUgETz?si=NcAOCzWBQQKc40pcVnnQ5A))  


  


  


  


The next morning Reed woke with a sneaking suspicion that he had done something regrettable the night before. It was a strange feeling to have in his own apartment. That was the sort of emotion generally reserved for waking up on a stranger's house or in a hotel bed. But here, with his streaming app asking him _are you still watching?_ and Tina hogging the majority of the blankets, he was at a loss.

What had happened?

CALL LOG

Outgoing Call: CONNOR 2: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO, 02:57

"Oh, shit," he muttered, suddenly overcome with mental exhaustion. He exhaustedly plunked his phone on the nightstand and flopped onto his back, recalling bits and pieces of their conversation. Something about thirium? Richard asking if he was drunk. Caution-yellow that he couldn't see. The strangest sense that Richard didn't mind being bothered that late at night, that early in the morning, whichever.

God, he needed some water.

Eventually he pried himself up, dropped a pillow on Tina's head to muffle her snoring, and took a glass of water with him to the shower. It was Monday, so he silenced his phone before the flood of weekend catch-up emails could piss him off. It wouldn't stop him from checking the feed throughout the day in the hopes that some kind of breakthrough was imminent, but it did give him some semblance of feeling like he was in control of his life. He stayed in the shower until he'd finished a solid twenty ounces of water and then toweled off so he could put his pajamas back on and putz around the kitchen, phone in hand, trying his damnedest not to thumb through his email.

Except -- that outgoing call was weighing heavily on his mind. He tried to escape it with a cup of coffee, then a second, but it nagged him awake right alongside the double dose of caffeine.

His fingers were hesitant on the contact screen, but they did eventually dial Richard.

"Reed?"

"Did I call you last night?"

"You did," Richard said.

"Anything important get said?"

"You ran some theories by me. You don't remember?"

"Bits and pieces," Reed admitted. "I was tired. And, uh, pretty drunk."

"If it's any consolation, you were very coherent."

"So what'd we talk about?"

"I can send you a playback of the conversation so you can listen to it at your leisure, but to sum up, you suggested the kidnapping victims were likely hidden as far from base transceiver stations as possible to prevent network access."

Reed frowned. It took him a moment to catch up and parse the idea. "Right. I was trying to ask you if we could -- I guess -- mock up a network? Make something portable and drive around with it, essentially. Try to catch some of those network requests."

"Unfortunately, that's an impractical solution. What you're suggesting would require at least one hundred fifty thousand dollars in resources, not to mention the time it would take to engineer such a feat."

"Shit. Well, what about satellite coverage? Sat phones are still a thing, right?"

"I doubt there are any on hand in the department's supply. They're expensive. Besides, a satellite phone doesn't come with the same functionality as the sort of network you have in mind. Your idea would require deployment or access to a geostationary satellite -- and, like we discussed last night, that would require knowing _where_ to deploy or access it."

Reed scowled at the kitchen floor. "Cool. So HQ having a chokehold on cash means these people might die."

"People, huh?"

"Huh?"

"Never mind. Isn't today your day off? Shouldn't you be relaxing?"

"I'm relaxing," Reed said, langorously enjoying the soreness sparking through his body from his casual lean on the counter. He stretched his lower back and closed his eyes to let a wave of worn-out pleasure carry him into semi-hardness.

"Lieutenant Anderson is adamant that proper relaxation involves taking a break from thinking about work. He says it's a leading cause of burnout."

"Well, I can't turn my brain off. Figuring shit out doesn't rely on what days I'm scheduled."

"To misuse a cliché, Reed, you're only human. You can choose to direct your energy elsewhere."

"Compartmentalization envy, huh?"

"If you like."

"Didn't we talk about you getting a hobby?" He poured Tina a cup of coffee and awarded the dregs of the pot to himself.

"I told you I have hobbies. I just didn't share what they are."

"Sure." It suddenly felt weirdly dirty, almost voyeuristic, to bother Richard on his day off. It didn't help that he could absolutely trace the filled-out erection in his sweatpants back to the casual confidence of his partner's smooth phone presence. Maybe it was just weirdly dirty and voyeuristic because he was on the phone with Richard when he should have been on the phone with Jack if he was gonna pop wood at nine thirty in the morning. "Look, I'll, uh, see you tomorrow."

Richard sounded mildly nonplussed. "Right," he said, but not rudely, and the call disconnected.

Reed figured it would probably be morally unsound to rub one out right after talking to his work partner. Instead he turned his attention to clearing out the guest bedroom. There wasn't much to clean up -- just old case files he'd ditched in there instead of hauling them all the way to his office -- but he took his time. He dragged the bed closer to the window so the layout of the room didn't mirror Tina's bedroom at home, took his ex's clothes out of the dresser, and moved Tina's suitcases in.

The whole time, he fixated on the memory of Jack's hands on him, how they had pressed bruises into his thighs and his upper arms, how they had crumbled his resolve and plunged into his mouth and his ass alternately like they belonged there.

The whole time, he fought off his brain's sick efforts to superimpose his partner's sharp eyes over Jack's vantablack ones.

It didn't really work.

Reed skulked into the bathroom to jerk off, carefully teasing his tender hole but not daring to use any more than a single finger as stimulation. He insistently mouthed Jack's name to force himself to reroute the sudden traitorous concept of his shitbag partner as a creature with any sexuality whatsoever.

It didn't really work.

It wasn't Jack's name held silent between his teeth as he came.

"God _damn it,"_ Reed snarled, and furiously washed his hands. It took a few moments of deep breathing to render himself calm enough to leave the bathroom.

Tina was in the kitchen drinking the coffee he'd poured her. She was sleep-rumpled, her hair dragged into a lazy ponytail, and her eyes were barely open. "I'm fucking hung over," she said.

"I put your stuff in the guest room. You wanna sleep it off?"

"I gotta work at noon," she frowned. "Didn't really wanna spend the whole morning in bed. I was thinking about going on a run. You wanna come with me?"

"Hell, no," Reed laughed.

"Yeah, I don't wanna go with me either." She rubbed her eyes tiredly. "I saw the guest room. Thanks."

He fluffed her ponytail. "Sure. I'll pick up more spare sheets today, probably."

"How was your, uh, date?"

"You already asked me that. Stop calling it a date."

"I guess it went well. You're in a fantastic mood."

"I drunk dialed Richard last night."

Tina burst into laughter and immediately winced, clutching at her head. "Jesus Christ, Gavin!"

"Shut up," he muttered.

"What do you want me to say?"

"You could show a little sympathy!"

"I guess it could be worse. You could have drunk dialed an ex." 

Reed groaned and sank down in the chair opposite. "Yeah. We should pick up your car."

"Don't change the subject, babe. What happened?"

"I just -- thought of something for a case and got excited, okay? Don't make it weird."

"Oh, see, you didn't drunk dial him, you just called him and you were drunk. There's a difference."

"Yeah, yeah."

"You still called him in the middle of the night, though. Just sext him and get it over with."

"Ugh, Tina, fuck off."

She rolled her eyes tolerantly. "Calm down, no one thinks you're gonna bend over for an android any time soon. You've been pretty vocal about that."

Reed was struck dumb by a wave of paranoia. He thought about Jack and Richard ten feet apart in the coffeeshop, of Jack sticking his fingers behind the lapel of his leather coat like he owned the place. Of Richard standing off to the side and not looking over. Was it intentional? Could he read what was going on? Did he know Jack was an android? Did he care?

Did any of that matter?

Reed rubbed deeply at the crook of his arm where sweat prickled at the thought. His pulse had spiked. The adrenaline rush made him itch like crazy under the skin, a gut-chill pining that gave him an instant empty headache.

Tina was watching him, and she was frowning critically. "You okay?"

"Fine. Just cold."

She looked as though she wanted to say something, but instead she drained her coffee. "I'm gonna shower. Then we can go." Her tone was strange. 

Reed did his best to kill the paranoia lancing through his gut.

Tina took her sweet time in the bathroom, leaving Reed more than enough time to chainsmoke three cigarettes and clean up their leftovers from the night before. He returned to bed to toss and turn in a failed attempt at a power nap, trying to clear his head, and had just drifted off when Tina cut off the water.

 _Mother fucker,_ he thought at no one in particular. He pried himself up and pulled on socks and boots to meet her at the door. She was oddly silent the whole drive to her house and left the car after pressing a warm kiss to his cheek. Reed swiped the chapstick off his skin, frowning severely.

"See you at home," she said, whisking her hair up into a bun. "Stay out of trouble."

Maybe it was for the best that Tina was sort-of moving in. Reed's pulse was still elevated, making him feel strangely weak. He desperately needed a distraction. Had he eaten? If he had, he couldn't remember. He stopped by his coffeeshop and picked up breakfast, picking at it for more than an hour to kill time, thumbing through the emails he'd sworn up and down to himself he wouldn't open that day. It was different now, though. Now he needed something to hold his attention hostage so he didn't --

There. Richard's message with their conversation attached. It was strange to listen to. Did he really sound like that? His voice was deeper, rougher, than he had an awareness of. Maybe it was from the alcohol, or how recently he'd been asleep, or how Jack had put his vocal cords through all kinds of hell. It just gave him an odd disconnect from the conversation itself. He had to skip back through the track several times to keep up.

 _I can hardly picture myself starting a long-term relationship with a human,_ he scoffed to himself. Maybe that wasn't the first thing he should have taken away from their little chat, but it stuck out to him. Like anyone in their right mind would show any interest in such a cold fucking fish anyway. Richard was exactly as the military had commissioned him: a walking iceberg, conceiving of things in black and white with very little grey to blend the sharp edges.

He got out his phone to text him.

_When you said you'd try to make yourself known to a network, what did you mean?_

The response came almost instantly. _I would first attempt to ping major networks and wait for a response. If there was no answer I would attempt to manually discover networks by running down a list of common names, addresses, et cetera. It would be much like working my way through the phone book._

_Doesn't sound very efficient._

_I can send out tens of thousands of inquiries at once. It would be exponentially more efficient than a human typing probe messages, but ultimately would still rely on chance._

_So you send a handshake and hope. How would you know you were successfully sending a request?_

This time, the response was delayed in the seconds. _Are you implying there could be something stopping the androids in question from successfully reaching out?_

_You're really hung up on implications lately._

_I work with you. I'm learning about their importance._

"Thanks, shitbag," Reed muttered. _So how would you know,_ he wrote back, annoyed.

_I would receive confirmation that I sent the ping and a notice of confirmation or failure from the network in question._

_Can it be faked?_

_Potentially._

_Are you dodging my questions because I'm right and you didn't think of it first?_

_Potentially,_ Richard sent again. Reed wondered if he regretted it. Other androids seemed capable of regret, but the jury was still out on Richard.

 _Talk later,_ he said.

There was no response. The irony wasn't lost on him.

\---

Reed found himself intentionally wasting his afternoon. There was no rhyme or reason to pouring half a tank of gas into driving around Detroit just short of rush hour, cycling through radio stations in the hopes of finding something that could clear his mind. He was mentally unsatisfied, like he'd been interrupted twenty minutes before the end of a movie. Like he'd accidentally pictured Richard's immaculate hands on him in the half-second before he splattered the bathtub drain with come.

_Yep. Go have a day off, they said. It'll be relaxing, they said._

Tina's noon shift wouldn't be over until nearly ten, and that was if she didn't wind up stuck on some bullshit assignment. He didn't miss having his boots on the ground twenty-four seven. Long hours with his lower back in knots? He could accomplish that just by existing. 

He fleetingly wondered if that's how Fowler had felt when he'd reached detective.

The idea made him frown. Sure, he was gunning for captain -- wasn't everybody? -- but he'd have to make lieutenant first. It was hard to remember Fowler as anything other than the worn-out desk jockey he'd become, even though he'd been there for the transition and the messy divorce that had swiftly followed. Reed was at no risk for a divorce of any kind, so that was some comfort.

He found his unplanned drive taking him northeast, upriver, up toward the lake, up toward Elijah's ridiculous tech compound. He briefly thought about stopping in on him.

He wondered how Elijah would react.

And briefly, briefly, he wondered why they never talked anymore. Was Elijah that bad? He was polite enough. Distant, sure, but the kind of distant smart people tended to be. And he no longer had that strange, strained aura that gathered over him as a kid and crowded all of the ease out of the room. The charisma of fame had seemed to mature him, develop him, give him some kind of self-determination. He'd acted like a _person,_ for fuck's sake -- had treated Richard, at the very least, like a guest in his home.

Maybe, now that their parents were gone -- now that they were adults, mostly in their own right -- maybe they didn't have a reason not to get along. Maybe bygones could be bygones. It was weird for any one person, much less two people, to be alone in the world at this stage in their lives.

It was weird to not have a family. Tina had a family. Fowler had a family -- his father was the former mayor, his younger brother was lieutenant governor. Even Anderson had family, which counted for something even if they had moved away. _What are you doing for New Year's? For the Super Bowl? For --_ Just enduring the questions themselves filled him with an insurmountable sense of loneliness. It was something he didn't have to feel during the familial off-season, didn't have to think about, so the pitying looks struck harder during all the holiday party planning he wasn't invited to. Or wouldn't let himself get invited to. Six of one, half dozen of the other.

Elijah, though... Elijah understood. Elijah stood by him by their lockers in high school and patiently refused to let him explain to yet another idiot jock why Hanukkah was in November this year. Elijah had always been there, in the background, refusing to let him feel like he had to explain himself.

Elijah had given him space when their grandparents had come to help him pack up his bedroom so they could sell the house and add the proceeds to the estate. He'd talked his mother into pulling down some of the oil paintings in the entryway so that the angry, hurt teenager coming to live with them could get on with his fucking life. And he hadn't acted any differently at school -- hadn't answered anyone's questions about Reed's parents with any more information than they could have gotten from the newspaper.

_white_

_, plastic hands_

Oh.

Right.

He lit a cigarette and searched for a place to easily turn the Charger around, finally settling on an old interchange that had been abandoned partway through its construction.

\---

It had only been four hours since he'd dropped Tina off at her car. He was still restless, directionless, hopped up on being trapped in his own head with no distraction. He didn't want to be at home. He just needed somewhere to physically _be,_ to exist unnoticed, to purge the dead-end thoughts that he never waited to consider in the first place. But there was no way he could go on a run if just the impact of walking briskly turned him into a daze-eyed mess.

So, what was the next best thing to a run?

Reed stopped by the house long enough to grab a swimsuit and a towel before driving back downtown to take advantage of the precinct's in-house gym pool. It was nothing special, just a short course pool, 25 meters from tip to tail, but its main advantage over the public pool at his gym was that no one ever used it. He entered from the loading dock and navigated to the pool in the most roundabout way possible so as to avoid anyone he knew. Closing in on four in the afternoon on a Monday, it was easy work. He was briefly annoyed he was rarely tapped to work undercover.

He took a fast shower, little more than a perfunctory rinse, and peeled the skintight knee-length shorts up over his wet thighs. They hugged him pleasantly, left him with a freedom of movement he was unused to outside of the bedroom. He left his towel in a heap on a starting block and dove in from the center lane's ledge, lazy, freeform, ready to disappear into the clear water.

The first few laps were slow, boring; he hadn't forgotten to stretch, he'd just leapt right in. The parallel wasn't lost on him. Reed quickly found a steady rhythm. He wasn't there to really work up a sweat, but it did eventually happen. The water was pleasing and temperate on his skin and the silence afforded by the water's churning helped clear his head. He _felt_ his mind settle as certainly as he might _feel_ it settle in the middle of a round of really good sex. All he'd needed was there in that agitated near-silence; there was no itch in his veins, no urge deep behind the base of his skull for him to put his badge back in his desk and head out on the town for a few hours in search of a bad time.

Breathing was becoming a pain. He was winded, more out of practice than he'd anticipated. He flipped over onto his back the next time he touched the wall, watched the backstroke flags disappear from his field of vision behind one strong push of his legs, and spent the next few laps meandering back and forth between the two walls, mind blissfully quiet. He wasn't surprised his arms were falling victim to the workout long before his legs -- not after the workout he'd gotten over the last two weeks keeping up with Jack's demonic stamina. He paused at the end of the pool opposite the starting blocks and tore at his goggles, pulling them clear of his head, so he could hang onto the concrete ledge and pant for air.

Something prickled at the space between his shoulders.

He wasn't alone.

When he turned to face the noise, it was Richard -- seated on the starting block one lane over, twenty-five meters away above the water.

"The fuck kind of game are you playing," Reed called, voice echoing off the polished concrete walls.

"No games," Richard returned. He was the picture of calm, ankle crossed over his knee, dressed to the nines in his sleek black clothes despite the humidity of the room. "Connor said you were here on your day off. I was curious."

"I'm not a fucking zoo attraction." Reed hauled himself up out of the pool in one easy motion and sat opposite Richard as if they were sharing a table. Water streamed off of his body, and Richard -- it was the damnedest thing, but those skylight eyes were taking him in like they were waiting for him to do a trick. "I'm just here to work out."

"I see," Richard said in a tone that Reed found difficult to gauge. Maybe it was genuine. Maybe there were a few sarcastic notes in there.

Reed tried to look like he was less out of breath than he actually was -- but there was Richard's penetrating gaze again, fixed on the space just beneath the center of Reed's chest, watching it heave, watching water bead and trail downward, streaking dark hair into darker lines -- 

He slid back into the pool.

He indolently propelled himself back over to his starting point. His arms were burning. He hoped following up that marathon fuck session with such a prolonged workout wouldn't be a problem, but -- 

for some reason, in the privacy of this windowless room, somehow away from everything even though the world outside thundered a single story overhead, he couldn't help but think --

he had his partner to pick up the slack, didn't he?

Reed put his hand on the starting block's backstroke handle and let his weight hang from it. "You followed me down here," he said. "You've gotta know why."

"No," Richard said, "I was just curious. I've never seen someone work out before."

"So look on YouTube. Unless the reception down here is bad."

"It's not the best," Richard agreed.

Reed hauled himself up out of the pool. He put the center lane starting block between them. "I'm starting to suspect you might just be some kind of degenerate."

Yellow. Reed hid a smirk. "What do you mean by that?"

"C'mon, I've been around town all day and you only stroll in now that I'm half naked? How do you keep showing up when I don't have clothes on?"

"You have clothes on," Richard said.

"Barely."

"Swimsuits are socially acceptable poolside."

"Sure. Where's yours?"

Yellow. "I'm not here to swim."

"Right. Just to observe."

Richard's expression was unsettlingly familiar as he looked Reed up and down. Reed felt his stomach flip. He was pinned in place, bare feet stuck fast to the slippery tile. His partner's gaze made him feel like... like prey, for some reason. He forced his breathing to come slower. It burned the inside of his chest. 

"Show's over," he declared, and grabbed his towel.

Richard stood and drifted, ghostlike, over the tile. The soles of his dress shoes made no sound, even on the echoing floor in the echoing room. He followed Reed without hesitation -- not threatening in proximity, a casual distance, but one that still made Reed's hackles rise.

"The hell are you doing?"

"We were conversing," Richard said. He looked mildly put out.

"No, you were staring. And following me around on my time off."

"I was already in the precinct. I apologize. I didn't realize conducting off-the-clock conversation was considered a social faux pas."

"You really are dead set on playing ignorant, huh. It's more about you sneaking down here in the first place." Reed paused at the locker room door and turned partway to face Richard. He'd done nothing to dry off upon emerging, and had left a trail of water behind him in a casual arc from the pool to the locker room. _Good,_ he decided. He didn't want to look like he was running.

He wasn't running.

"And now you're following me to the locker room," he said triumphantly. He watched Richard's face closely for any change. He had no idea why he'd thought Richard was impassive when they'd met. There was a lot going on, if you knew where to look. Richard gained ground on him and stood just outside his personal bubble, gently towering over him, six-foot-whatever of scarcely camouflaged attitude.

And there it was: the barest flash of yellow in a smooth cycle of blue. 

"I suppose I don't have the same proscriptions regarding nudity as you."

"I don't have proscriptions regarding nudity, asshole." Reed left him in the doorway, adrenaline slowly rising, heartrate in pursuit. Was Richard going to follow him? What could he possibly want?

What was Reed missing in the constant fucking battle to understand what was going on behind those carefully engineered eyes?

"You do," Richard called in after him. Reed could hear his voice echo strangely in the labyrinthine series of tiled walls. "Humans do in general."

Reed carefully peeled the swimsuit off, rinsed the chlorinated water away, and let it drop with a wet _thap._ "Didn't figure you cared."

"Some of your boundaries seem incredibly arbitrary."

"Funny, I don't remember asking for your opinion." Despite himself, he wasn't really annoyed. Outside the showers, Richard was silent. Reed wondered what he was thinking.

He kept waiting for Richard to say something, to spark the conversation again, but there was only silence from the entryway. Eventually his curiosity got the better of him. He cut the water and scrubbed himself dry, then slid back into his clothes and headed for the locker room's exit.

Richard wasn't there.

He wasn't far. He was crouched by the pool's edge, hand on the starting block for balance, a strange anomaly in his grey-on-black smart casual. Reed didn't know what he could possibly be looking at. He slowly approached, still barefoot, gym bag slung over his shoulder. The surface of the water was still but for the slow, seemingly contemplative blue pulse of Richard's LED. It looked like his eyes were locked with his own reflection.

Reed leaned on the other side of the starting block. "You awake in there?"

Richard startled.

Red.

He withdrew from the ledge. His eyes were -- his eyes were wild, and if Reed didn't know better he would have said they were haunted. Maybe they were. He didn't know a thing about Richard. He didn't know what he'd seen in his short time.

"Easy," Reed cautiously said.

Richard shook his head. He looked off-balance, but the walls were back up, and the change in his expression was extraordinary. It was like watching someone get scared sober. When Richard stood, Reed didn't immediately follow him up, just let him regain space and clarity -- even if the worry that he might topple over into the pool was very real.

He wondered if that sideways helplessness was what it was like for Richard to deal with _his_... episodes.

"I'm fine," Richard reluctantly said. Reed could hear the lack of stability in his voice. He finally turned on him, up to him, and saw that he was still swaying -- almost as if he'd been struck with a migraine.

"You're not."

"It's fine." 

"Okay, fine, you're fine. What happened?"

Richard hesitated. "Just feature creep, I think."

"I don't know what that means. You looked like you were gonna pass out."

"Androids don't pass out."

"Androids do a lot of things they weren't supposed to be able to do."

Richard frowned -- not his usual severe frown that Reed was used to seeing on a crime scene, but a softer version. A more personal version, somehow. He stepped back from the edge of the pool and beckoned Reed to follow him with a tilt of his head. Despite himself, Reed did. He halfway expected Richard to lead him up the front stairwell toward the lobby, but instead they retraced Reed's earlier route toward the loading dock. It piqued his interest.

"Where are we going?"

"You didn't pass through the main offices," Richard explained, "so you didn't come in through the front entrance. That leaves the covered garage and the loading dock. I've noticed you will circle an entire city block to avoid parking in a covered garage, which I assume is related to the increased risk of cosmetic damage to your car."

Reed frowned. "You're walking me to my car."

"Yes. I wanted to continue talking with you but something about the pool room is very distracting."

 _Continue talking with me?_ They weren't even talking about anything. He couldn't imagine Richard wanting to spend recreational time with him. "Is this about the case?"

"Do you remember when you told me to get a hobby?"

"Rings a bell."

"My analysis indicates you may be guilty of hypocrisy."

"Oh, fuck you," Reed said, but there was no real heat behind it. There was something about moments like that, with Richard engaging in exaggerated robospeak, that almost made Reed wonder what his problem with the guy even was. He leaned on the receiving door jamb and felt the wind outside inhospitably whistle through the stress cracks in the concrete. He really didn't want to go into the March chill with wet hair. "You really don't have anywhere to be on your day off but here?"

"Ordinarily I might go somewhere to people-watch." His words were hesitant. It seemed to Reed that he didn't want to be judged for something that even a human might do. "But I want to learn more about the day-to-day function of the precinct as well, which is something I can't do on a day when you and I are both present. We leave too often and I'd like to use the time we spend together efficiently, even if it is time spent here."

"Figured you didn't really care to work with me," Reed admitted.

"I'm not sure what gave you that idea," Richard said. "Working with you is agreeable enough. As I expected, you're smart enough to keep up with me and innovative enough to keep things interesting."

"Huh." He felt his face grow warm.

"I have some thoughts on the case, but I don't want to take up your free time with them."

"Seriously? You decided you were gonna people-watch me and now that it didn't work you're gonna hold some juicy shit hostage? How'd you even get here?"

"I rode in with Connor and Lieutenant Anderson, but they left soon after I came down here."

"Do you, uh, need a ride home?"

"I had planned to take an autocab when we were done here."

"That's stupid," Reed reflexively said. "I told you to get a car, man. C'mon, I'll drive you over there. Don't waste your money."

"I wouldn't want to put you out."

"It's practically on the way." It wasn't, but he predicted the detour wasn't sizeable enough for Richard to put up an argument. He just couldn't stand to see someone burn money -- not when he'd struggled as much as he had. Even knowing Richard didn't need to buy groceries or anything didn't make it sit right with him. "Unless you wanna people-watch in an empty autocab."

Richard hesitated.

"C'mon," Reed said, and shouldered the door open without a backwards glance. Predictably, Richard followed him.

Almost as though he'd been built to follow orders.

Reed frowned at the idea. Come to think of it, he wasn't able to think of an instance of Richard going against an actual directive without having an explicit reason. Maybe it was a holdover from his programming. More likely, maybe he just wasn't all that interpersonally combative, and Reed was the one making their interactions near-violent. November wasn't enough time to have put up a constructive defense for someone of his particular brand of wit. Food for thought.

Richard folded his long legs into the passenger side of the Charger and relaxed -- his version of relaxed, anyway, which still looked like someone who was waiting at the dentist's office. Reed shivered his ass off all the way to the car and immediately cranked the heat. He could usually take the deep chill of a late March afternoon, but not with wet hair, and not after such a taxing impromptu workout. He turned the radio to a rock station and pulled out of the lot. Richard sat in silence for a while. Reed assumed he was just tuning out the noise, until --

"This is your favorite sort of music," Richard stated.

"Yeah, I like it." Reed glanced at him under the pretense of checking the side view mirror. He'd expected a studiously blank expression, but Richard looked contemplative.

"I think I do, too, though I don't have very much to compare it to."

"What, you don't come with Spotify as a default app?"

"I have very little patience for streaming. Listening to music is a physical experience. The way the air moves, the reverberation -- those are things that can't be simulated."

"Didn't think you'd care about something like that."

"You didn't ask," Richard said.

Reed huffed, but didn't argue -- just cut the volume as the station shifted to a commercial break. He didn't know how to deal with this unsettling truce. Driving other people into frustrated silence, he could handle, but Richard's strange mix of assertiveness and vulnerability was giving him difficulty. _Better start adjusting,_ he thought. _Gotta keep your numbers up even if you're training somebody if you want Fowler to take you seriously. Even if this asshole is a distraction._

They turned into Anderson's neighborhood. It was a quiet place, especially this late on a Monday afternoon. He was surprised the guy still lived there. The prematurely squelched career, the dead kid... it seemed kind of maudlin, almost intentionally so. But that was depression in a nutshell, especially the lonely kind Anderson had earned through trauma. 

Reed really didn't want to think about it.

"Honestly," he said, breaking the silence, "I would've had you pegged for something a lot more low key. Jazz, or something."

"Lieutenant Anderson listens to jazz--"

"Y'know, you're crashing in his guest room, he probably wouldn't mind if you called him Hank."

Richard tolerantly sighed. "I've listened to it, but I don't find it inspiring."

Reed turned the radio back up. The current track was heavy on the electric guitar with a modest dose of speed drumming -- more metal than rock, but not a real outlier. "And you find this inspiring?"

"Why not? You do. Music seems to fill a need within the consciousness to explore and revisit comfortable emotions."

Did he find it inspiring? He wasn't sure he found anything inspiring that wasn't professional success. Maybe Eliza was right. Maybe he did need a hobby. He shrugged and pulled up along the curb out front of Anderson's house. "See you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow, then."

"You need a ride there?"

"I'll manage," Richard said. His smile was off-putting -- not because it was insincere or ugly, but because it was unironically turned on Reed at all. Reed quickly looked away. 

"Just didn't figure you for having a preference. It's like you never want anything."

"Oh, no," Richard said. His voice was past calm, almost sweet. "I am definitely capable of wanting."

And then he was out of the car and calmly strolling up the walk, leaving Reed in the Charger with nothing but a fresh burst of cold air to keep him company. It chilled him to the damp scalp and further, down to the bone, down to the core of his overheated chest, but did nothing to quell the heat that radiated out from deep in his stomach and licked at his skin. That strangely damning heat stayed in his stomach long past his return to his house to wash the hard water from the precinct's locker room showers away from his skin.

When he woke in the morning, alone in his tangled sheets, the heat had gone out of him.

All that was left was the memory of what -- who -- had swept it through his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damn it feels good to be back
> 
> you might have noticed i linked the intro song -- i'm gonna start doing that from here on out! i'll go back and edit prior chapters to reflect that change. one half of the link will be for youtube, the other for spotify.
> 
> edited 3/18 to fix some formatting!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You better have a damn good reason to be here," Reed said. "Like, somebody somewhere better be dead, or something."
> 
> "Somebody's always dying somewhere, Gavin."

_i ain't got no culture or nothin', dirty words but that don't count_  
_flight attendants, waitresses, superstition -- good amount_  
_there's work to do, hell to pay, memories and fingerprints_  
_calling papa ignorance_  
__  
([buck 65](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z8FlMdsJEmg) \- [blood of a young wolf](https://open.spotify.com/track/2AlmuEyTmhFsU1PfyKveL0?si=aq8ir0vtRuuJQKMdDbjGKA))  


  


  


  


Two weeks turned into a month, and the passage from March into April was wet with the persistence of early spring storms. If Richard was bothered by the bleak weather, he didn't let on. Reed, on the other hand, could barely pry himself out of bed without the sun, and his mood got progressively worse as the stormfront wore on. His new housemate wasn't having it.

"Rise and shine, mother fucker," Tina called into his room. "Crime ain't gonna solve itself."

At least Tina seemed to be doing better. She had seen her new friend from the bar several times and returned with that special glow after every meet-up. It pissed Reed off, if he was being honest with himself, but he wasn't about to tell Tina to tone it down. It wasn't her fault his seasonal depression-based lack of motivation had resulted in a sexual dry spell. He hadn't seen Jack once since the man had ruined him to his own touch. Eliza would be having a field day with his thoughts if she hadn't had to cancel the last few sessions.

Reed sighed, rolled over, and felt his face burn in shame as he jerked off to the absolutely delicious dream he'd been roused from.

As he jerked off to the inescapable thought of Richard taking him apart the way Jack had.

Ten minutes later he sluggishly hauled himself out of the bed and staggered toward the bathroom. Tina, thankfully, was long gone. 

_It's Monday,_ he texted her, _you dumb asshole._

_i know ur off today but im not letting u waste it in bed again_  
_fr fr blease go do smthg fun today_

She was right, of course.

Orders received, Reed skulked into some comfortable clothes and made for the door with only his keys and phone in hand. He'd go to a movie, or something. Leave his gun behind. Maybe the aquarium. Be around some _life,_ for once. That was, if half the exhibits hadn't been replaced by synthetic fish and deeply unsatisfying holograms of kelp. He shrugged his jacket on and braced himself for the cold wet.

Crouched on his stoop in the rain and _petting his cat_ was mother fucking Elijah.

The orange traitor flicked its tail up into a question mark at the sight of Reed and burbled. The slight overhang to the roof had ensured its fluffy coat had remained mostly dry, but it showed no other obvious signs of common sense considering it was letting Elijah pet it.

"Good morning," Elijah said. He looked nervous. Sounded nervous, too.

_Good,_ Reed thought. It gave him a sick sense of pleasure to know that Elijah was uneasy around him. Let the spoiled bastard sweat it out for once. There were no ivory towers out there in the suburbs for him to hide in. "Yeah," he said after a loaded beat. "You get lost on your way to the shitbag convention?"

"Since you're a guest speaker, I hoped we could carpool." 

Elijah's smile was self-deprecating. Reed hated it. 

How _dare_ he show up unannounced and do such a bad impression of being a person. How _dare_ he try to insert himself in Reed's life again? Like he could just stroll in and snatch up a relationship. Like Reed's ten years of silence meant nothing just because he'd had to pay him a work-related visit. But that was Elijah, used to getting whatever he wanted without even having to ask.

"Entitled dickwad."

"Bootlicker."

"Attention whore."

"Overachiever."

"You better have a damn good reason to be here," Reed said. "Like, somebody somewhere better be dead, or something."

"Somebody's always dying somewhere, Gavin."

"Seriously?"

"I'm surprised you hadn't heard."

"Did you need something? Like, can you be helped?"

"I wanted to talk to you."

"You have my business card. You're free to call me or email me."

"I got the impression you wouldn't return my correspondence if it wasn't work related."

"You got the right impression."

Elijah looked pained. "Gavin, please."

"Where's your bodyguard?"

"If you mean Chloe, I'm perfectly capable of doing things on my own."

"Which is why I run into you all the time at Whole Foods."

Between them, the cat purred. 

Reed scowled and retrieved a scoop of dry food, dumping it unceremoniously into the bowl. "Traitor," he said. It was easy work for him to physically intimidate Elijah away from the cat just by crouching down and trespassing on the personal space of his delicate pianist hands. The contrast was ridiculous. Elijah's skin was milky and marble-smooth, fingers clever and twitchy. His tannest was a dozen shades lighter than the palest point on Reed's body from years of self-imposed seclusion. Reed was sure he could give Elijah a bruise just by touching him, but that's what came of doing real work.

"This is your cat?"

"This is _a_ cat," Reed replied. "I just feed it."

"Seems like your cat to me, then."

"You would say that. Responsibility doesn't have to imply ownership, you fucking capitalist."

"It does imply commitment," Elijah sniffed. "With that attitude, I'm rather glad you've chosen not to have children."

"Likewise," Reed spat. "But I guess playing god to the Borg is a good enough surrogate, huh?"

"You haven't told me to leave. Is it safe to assume you're amenable to speaking with me?"

"We're speaking right now, aren't we?"

"Barely."

"Better talk fast," Reed advised. "I got shit to do."

"I'm here to apologize. I let our relationship fall by the wayside and we're distant as a result. At the time it was easier to leave you to your personal problems with little regard for your lack of a support network, but when you visited my home, I knew I had made a mistake."

He was serious.

He was -- _serious?_

Reed couldn't believe the gall. The self-absorption. He silently stared at Elijah until that damnable self-assurance crumbled away and left an uncomfortable teenager in its wake.

In a distinctly cruel way, it was nice to know he could still have that effect on him. He let Elijah simmer in his own doubts for a few moments before he smiled his favorite nasty smile.

"Oh. You think that was you?" Reed slowly rose to his feet. The stance towered him over his _nephew,_ who was still crouched by the edge of the porch. Elijah's expensive waterproof jacket deflected the majority of the rain, but the cuffs of his jeans were soaked nearly to the ankle. How long had he been waiting outside? 

It didn't matter. Reed leaned in, threatening even with empty hands. Elijah reflexively edged away, _oozed_ away, sliding back down Reed's front steps like the slime he was.

"That was me," he breathed. "And I'm not sorry."

The silence between them lasted an infinite handful of seconds. When a thunderclap suddenly erupted gunshot-loud directly overhead, Elijah was the only one that jerked.

"Anyway," Reed said, "you want an appointment, you got my office phone. You show up at my house again and I'll fucking taze you, got it?"

"Got it," Elijah dumbly mimicked, and shrank away when Reed bounded down the steps toward his car.

_That freak him out a little? Good._ Reed sneered to himself. _He's lucky I didn't beat his ass just now, showing up here like that._ For all his internalized bravado, though, he was secretly unnerved. Where had Elijah gotten his address from? He hadn't updated his bank account or cell phone plan to reflect his new address -- not out of personal negligence, but because he hadn't wanted _exactly this_ to happen. And how was he supposed to know what to watch out for? He'd have to pay attention and see which bullshit luxury car Elijah had rolled up in. Satisfied with the quick solution, he buckled his seatbelt.

But by the time he cut on the engine and flicked the wiper blades, Elijah was gone.

\---

Reed circled the aquarium several times before parking. Seeing Elijah so abruptly had left him... not shaken, but less enamored with the idea of doing something out of the ordinary. _Fuck it,_ he finally decided. He purchased a ticket at the automated kiosk so he wouldn't be forced to socialize and headed inside.

He hadn't been to the aquarium in years. He was prematurely overwhelmed by the sound of sixty screaming children on school field trips long gone by and braced for the onslaught of noise. When he pressed open the lobby doors, he found the atrium surprisingly empty. Relief flooded him. In his current state of mind, he really didn't think he could handle spending thirty bucks for the privilege of dodging middle schoolers for two hours.

The dim blue lights drove his blood pressure back down to a normal level and drew him down the stairs, past the tubes of jellyfish and the reptile displays, to the reason he supposed most people came to the aquarium: the shark tanks. The aquarium had been updated since his childhood, expanded to help foster rehab and release for whatever flavor of the week was practically extinct. The deceptively steep ramps to the sublevel gave him a weird vertigo. He felt like something in his chest was dragged down, connected to the center of the earth, magnetizing him to something unfathomably far away. It was heavy, clouding, like depression absent of despair, like the hangover from a high. Reed followed the feeling to the lowest floor, where he found a plexiglass cylinder the size of a football field taking up most of the room. The cylinder glowed with some internal light, a mysteriously artificial neon blue, mesmerizing in its intensity. 

Movement swirled beyond the spherical wall and drew Reed toward the glass, the lightshow backing the siren's song. He could make out a massive shape circling deep in the tank. It disappeared for a moment as it rounded toward Reed in its clockwise swirl.

The shark was beautiful in its organic simplicity. _Sharks are older than trees,_ something meme-deep in his brain proclaimed. Reed didn't doubt it. He came close enough to touch the glass -- close enough for prey thrill to pump his blood faster as the shark swooped in front of him. The placard on the tank claimed the massive beast was a basking shark. Reed didn't know jack shit about wildlife, but he had enough self-preservation to not want to jump in the tank with the goddamn thing. _Typically reaches seven meters in length and weighs about five tons. Critically endangered. Filter-feeder? Yeah, I'm not gonna take my chances._

He was sure she could see him through the thick glass. She swooped on him again, swift for her size, and he could watch her single visible black eye gleam as she tracked him.

He wondered if she was lonely.

A singular member of a futureless species slowly circling clockwise, faux ocean decorations in the bottom of her tank, waiting for time to run out. She would never see the open sea again. They could have let her out that day and she'd make her home in the space she should have been forty or fifty years ago before she wasted away from loneliness.

He wondered if she ever got bored, partnerlessly circling the tank. She was dangerous-looking, but the placard said she would only dole out violence if provoked. She reminded him of someone. He couldn't quite put a finger on who -- someone he knew semi-closely? Not Kevin, not Jack, but someone recent, someone --

When she curiously flicked her tail and swirled counterclockwise instead, and the gleam of the LED on the right side of her photorealistic head was suddenly clear as day --

Richard.

She reminded him of Richard.

Reed turned on his heel and headed to the gift shop.

\---

After dropping more money than he probably should have on kitschy shit to cheer Tina up, Reed opted for the familiar: he drove across town through the frozen April rain to his coffeeshop. Kevin greeted him with a wave as he walked in.

"Nice day out, huh," he said.

Reed scoffed his agreement. His joggers clung wetly to his calves, making him feel instantly pseudo-sweaty. "Conversation piece, or does the rain actually bother you?"

Kevin's recovery was swift, but that didn't stop Reed from seeing his startled flinch. That pesky _you fucked up_ alarm went off in his head again. "It can be both," he said. His smile seemed -- genuine, but somehow forced. Reed wondered what he'd said to put that look on his face. "As little as we get in Detroit, I like the sunlight better than this dreary rain."

"You could always move," Reed pointed out. "Plenty of other coffeeshops in the world."

"I like this one. My favorite customers are here." He studied the a scratch in the counter and dug at it with his thumbnail. It was in vain. The damage had been done. "And, you know, my friends. Naomi. Everyone else, too, but, I mean."

"I get you," Reed said, thinking about Tina.

Kevin cleared his throat. "Subject change: do you know if Richard is single?"

Reed recoiled and laughed. "That all you think about?"

"What? Everybody's gotta have a crushtomer!"

"Yeah?"

"So is he single or not?"

"Look, Kevin, I'm not gonna -- I can't ask him that, all right?"

"Why not? Don't you guys talk, like, at _all?"_

"I mean...."

"Is he that big of an asshole?"

"I'm the asshole, actually," Reed said.

"Less of an asshole than most of my customers."

Reed had seen it in person and had to agree. He was surprised the DPD didn't get called down to more coffeeshops, because he knew if it were him on the other side of the counter he long since would have snapped.

Then something caught his eye.

He couldn't figure out from where, but he recognized the man at the end of the counter. And it wasn't in a 'dark night at the bar' sort of way, either -- more of a 'white male between the ages of 30 to 35, six foot, armed' sort of way.

"Hey, Kevin," he said, lowly, conspiratorially. "That guy over there -- you get his name for his drink?"

"Who?" The speed of Kevin's head swing was so obvious Reed had to look in an entirely different direction to allay suspicion.

"Medium-black-coffee over there."

"How'd you know he got coffee?"

A lucky guess. "Saw him at the condiment bar. He dumped some of his coffee out to add cream."

"He said 'no room,'" Kevin seethed.

_Gotcha,_ Reed thought. "What a dick."

"No kidding, right? He said his name was Chris. What's up?"

Chris. Christopher. Christopher West. West comma Christopher, currently wanted for failure to appear in court. Carjacking. No priors for any auto-related crimes, but not exactly a dark horse, either. "Pretty sure I recognize him, that's all."

"Really? He doesn't look like a cop."

"I don't look like a cop, either."

"No, you definitely give off cop vibes.

Reed rolled his eyes. "You don't even know what that means."

His heart thundered. Without his badge, but more importantly without his handcuffs, keeping West pinned down was going to require a lot of endurance. It had taken both Anderson and Connor to cuff the guy last time. He was fit enough to have several inches on Reed -- at the shoulders. _Explains the side gig stealing cars,_ Reed thought. The idea of apprehending him was still very tempting.

"Well, maybe not a cop. But you definitely look like you disturb the peace."

"Thanks, Kev."

Maybe it wasn't the smartest course of action. Kevin turned away to make his latte. The sound of the espresso machine startled West -- and it was definitely West, Reed knew now that he got a clear look at his face -- and he looked around. Reed casually turned away. His heartrate was still climbing. He couldn't believe he was still considering going after him.

He definitely needed to shoot Jack a text.

West stood just as Kevin sent the steam wand singing through a pitcher of milk. The shrill noise gave Reed pause. He missed his opportunity to organically put himself in West's path. Did he try to catch up? Move quickly and risk being seen, potentially starting an altercation in the shop? Reed -- 

Unhurried, West strolled out the door.

Reed cursed and pushed away from the register to follow him.

"Gavin," Kevin called, but it was as if the barista and everyone else in the shop was worlds away. Reed could feel his pulse kicking around in his throat as hyperfocus enveloped him. He darted between tables with center midfielder speed and burst through the exit --

\-- and crashed straight into Richard's chest.

"Shit," they both said. Reed immediately struggled to push past his partner, predator sense dragging him forward even though Richard's hands had come up to steady him by the arms. Richard was worse than a brick wall: he moved _with_ Reed instead of against him, trapping him in place, forcing the blood back into his body.

"Reed," he said.

"Fuck, get off, dickbag, I got a runner!"

Richard turned his head and Reed knew what he saw: a wall of statistics, none of them favorable, each successively dwindling the merit of letting Reed pursue. It was clear that he was intentionally cockblocking him -- Rottweiler firm, Rottweiler patient. "West is armed," he said.

"Fuckin' A, I bet he is!"

With a casual step backward, Richard drew him all the way outside. The door shuttered behind them and sealed the ruckus of the coffeeshop behind the glass. Reed stiffened, ready to fight, but Richard's hands were still on him, inside his guard, dragging him back down to reality.

"Listen up, you cut-rate HAL 9000--"

"What exactly were you planning to do when you caught up to him?"

Reed couldn't believe his gall. "Play chess, what the fuck do you think?"

"West is both low-priority and has no qualms about discharging weapons at civilians. As soon as he realized you were an officer --"

"Civilians? Fuck you, man, we're civilians. _You're_ a civilian. Fuck your pseudo-paramilitary bullshit."

"I'm an Air Force lieutenant."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm employed by the Defense Department. I report to the Chief of Staff of the Air Force."

"I'm sorry, I had something stupid in my ear. Did you just say you --"

"Was I unclear? I'm sorry." The sudden animated formality made Reed recoil, and Richard's hands fell away. He sounded like Connor had before the revolution. He looked up at his partner to find the light on his temple flaring distress-signal yellow.

_The sky before a thunderstorm._ Aloud, Reed went on the offensive. "What, didn't you think that was important for me to know?"

"It hasn't been relevant to the task at hand."

"Oh, so _now_ you've got social protocols?"

Yellow swirl turned to yellow blink. "I don't understand."

"I had to parade my whole fucking life story in front of you at Beverly Saunders' house and you didn't think it might be a good idea to reciprocate?"

"I got the impression that you didn't care."

"What, like that's fuckin' relevant? It's give and take."

"So I owe you something?"

"Some fucking consideration, maybe. See, this is what I was talking about when I said you hadn't lived."

"I beg to differ."

"Then beg."

Richard gave him a bewildered look. "Your preoccupation with being sexually aggressive is very off-putting. No wonder you have very few social connections."

"Excuse me?"

"You're thirty-six and live alone. The cat you take care of isn't even yours. Most men your age have been in at least one legally committed relationship, but the county register doesn't ever show you as having been married."

"Didn't I tell you not to fucking spy on me?"

"No, you didn't."

"Well, don't."

"It's a matter of public record."

"You're still fucking prying. And you kept me from -- did you just bait me to keep me from catching that shitbag? Jesus Christ," Reed said. "You dumb asshole."

"You look terrible," Richard replied.

"Thanks. It's all the stress."

"Has your sleep schedule been regular?"

"If you're gonna dog me, come inside. My coffee's probably up."

Richard followed him back into the building and gave Kevin a genuine smile. Reed watched, mystified, as Kevin dropped the bar towel he was holding on his own foot.

"What are you doing on this side of town, anyway?"

"Believe it or not," Richard said, "I have a life outside of work."

"So you, what, took an autocab?"

"I borrowed Hank's car. He and Connor are both cataloguing evidence today."

"Department oughta loan you a fleet vehicle, honestly."

Richard looked surprised. "I didn't consider asking."

"Yeah, well, Fowler should've offered. He loves sob stories."

"Personal experience?"

"The fuck you prying, all of a sudden?"

"You said to show a little interest."

"No, I _said_ you owed me some _consideration._ "

"You don't accept consideration very well. Interest seems to be the next best thing."

Reed barked out a laugh that surprised both of them. "Yeah, fuck you too."

\---

In the end, Reed didn't feel like he'd learned very much about Richard. His partner was an Air Force lieutenant who had been activated a few weeks after the revolution. He'd lived briefly in the section of Virginia that functioned as long-term parking for DC and had been acclimating to Detroit since February. He didn't dislike dogs, especially not Anderson's monstrous St. Bernard, and in fact held an appreciation for animals all the way down to the creepy-crawlies. Richard hoped one day to have a house with enough land to make space for a cat or two.

He enjoyed the complexities of different musical genres. None of that speed metal crap Anderson listened to, but stuff of a similar nature. Reed wondered how much of that was exposure to the music he played in the Charger.

"Some of the concepts are foreign," Richard had said, "but graspable."

Sure. Wearing a human suit couldn't be that hard, right? Reed did it all the time.

He needed a distraction.

Before he knew it, he was back at the desk in his home office, flipping through old files. Tina wasn't around to see him working on his day off. She wouldn't be home for hours. Reed settled into his worn office chair with his second latte and linked in to the departmental network to search for West, Christopher.

Christopher West, 34, six foot one and two hundred thirty pounds at the time of his booking, had a sizeable record for a white man his age. There was nothing on the list he'd been tried for but not convicted of, and he didn't seem like the type to bother with expungement. Based on the violent crimes he had on his record, Reed was genuinely surprised that the judge had let him walk free after a cocaine-fueled carjacking with witnesses. Then again, a quick search showed the other reason his name was familiar, and that was his status as a recently separated NHL player -- maybe the judge had been a fan, or maybe West had paid his bail immediately. Maybe he had West pegged for a mildly misguided Christian boy. Whatever. Reed regretted not giving chase. Fucking Richard. Fucking steel-eyed bastard.

There was an address and a phone number listed, but Reed seriously doubted even someone of West's apparent mental caliber would return to his home on file with a bench warrant dogging his every step. He tried to focus on working out where West might be instead -- old girlfriend? Parents? A hockey buddy?

But his mind kept fighting its way back over to the serial case he was working with Richard.

Maybe he needed a different kind of distraction.

Before he realized it he was dialing Jack's number. He panicked -- he'd never called Jack before, only texted him, this was too forward, too much, he didn't have time to plan out what he was going to say, he didn't have time to play it cool -- but it was too late to hang up; the line had already rung at least once. Reed winced, heart pounding in his ears. A gentle click interrupted the ringing on the other end of the line.

"Gavin," came Jack's smooth voice. The dark weight of it was an immediate promise. "Working hard?"

"I wish," Reed said.

"Not like you to call."

"Not like me to text more than once, either," he admitted.

Jack laughed. It was an easy sound, no grudge held. "Here I thought we had a good arrangement worked out."

"Why else would I be calling?"

"To gently let me down?"

"You free tonight?"

"I'm free now," Jack said. "I can come pick you up, if you want."

Reed's breath caught in his throat. On the one hand, his creed said that none of these wet dicks were allowed to know where he lived. On the other hand, that was for personal safety, and he'd already pushed some pretty hard, pretty fucked up limits with Jack. Back on the first hand, though, wasn't that a good reason for him to draw a line?

"Gavin?"

"Huh? Yeah, sorry, I --"

"I mean, I'm not gonna be offended if you don't want me knowing where you live. We're not in that kind of relationship."

Reed cleared his throat. "Getting an autocab would be easier anyway. I'm not gonna be home for a little while," he smoothly lied to his living room wall.

"Cool," Jack said. "Eight?"

"Sure," Reed said. "You want me to bring anything over? Six pack or something?" He immediately closed his eyes, frustrated. _A six pack? Really? For the guy that couldn't drink even if he wanted to? Idiot._

"Only if you feel like drinking. You're the fun kind of drunk," Jack said, and Reed could swear he purred.

"I'll see you at eight." Reed hung up and, upon realizing he'd sentenced himself to two hours of interminable _waiting_ before he could go get fucked, swore. He could feel his face burning.

\---

It turned out Jack's hospitality the first time Reed accidentally spent the night wasn't a fluke -- and neither were his deliciously heavy hands. There were already precise, uncareful fingermarks peeking through on Reed's skin, bright like a sunrise. It looked like he'd sentenced himself to a few days of long sleeves. Lucky for him it wasn't an unseasonably warm April. He struggled to catch his breath from flat on his back, feeling like he'd just run a marathon. 

Jack teasingly mouthed at his spent dick, clever tongue catching Reed's breath in his throat. They both moaned. Reed could see Jack's cock hanging enticingly under gravity's direction, still full, still swollen. He desperately wanted it in his mouth, but he knew, knew, _knew_ it would start the cycle over again and this time he couldn't promise himself he wouldn't pass out.

"Fuck," he sighed, shifting and arching against Jack's face. He couldn't help himself. God, he was on the verge of wishing he could help himself. "Fuck, please, fuck me again..."

"No," Jack purred, but he didn't stop. Every lick felt like the aftershock of an earthquake. "You just let me clean you up."

Reed quietly snarled, but there was no threat behind it. He bonelessly sank back into the filthy bed and trembled under Jack's mouth until there was stillness and silence.

"You know, for a human, you're pretty strange," Jack said.

Reed scoffed out a laugh. "Yeah?"

"Most of you are one-and-done. Never had someone stick around to get trashed the way you do."

"Feels good," Reed protested. "I don't get to have a lot of fun. Might as well make it count."

"Man of mystery."

"How's that?"

"I mean, you never even told me what you do for work."

"You never told me, either."

"I distinctly recall telling you I was part of an android rights campaign."

"So that's, like, what you _do?_ Not a side gig?"

"You're dodging the question," Jack grinned.

"You never actually asked a question. What do you do for the campaign?"

"You could say I've got prior experience as a political organizer."

"Very mysterious."

"What I did before the revolution doesn't really matter. You want to stick around for breakfast?"

Reed checked the clock to find it was nowhere near dawn. "I should really go soon," he said, but didn't move. "Shower, maybe sleep. Tuesdays are a long one for me."

"Fair enough. Really, though, I just do the stuff other people can't. Obviously I can stay up later and longer than any human could, and I don't mind doing coffee runs for our activism team. They're really dedicated, you know? A lot of them come to the office straight from their real jobs and spend all night on logistics or making phone calls to rally support. So I try to match their commitment."

"By bringing strangers home and fucking them through the mattress?"

"Hey, I'm allowed to have fun too. Besides, those strangers aren't generally complaining."

"Generally? You saying I'm a complainer?"

"I'm saying you're perceptive enough to know what you are."

"All right, Descartes, lay off."

Jack grinned. "So, anyway, part of my job is to hook up anyone that needs minor repair, limb replacement, that sort of thing, that hasn't found their place in society, you know? Maybe they don't have income and can't afford a tech to come out and see them, much less the replacement parts themselves. We serve as a point of contact to ensure everyone can get what they need."

"Very communistic of you."

"Is that such a bad thing?"

"I'm not getting into a moral argument with you, man," Reed said, and it surprised him that Jack just grinned in response.

He thought about that for the rest of the day -- Jack's lack of rejoinder. How it didn't bother him to be misunderstood. How there didn't need to be a meeting of the minds. How he let it go without fighting it because, at the end of the day, what the hell should it matter what Reed thought? 

At the end of the day, what did that affect anyone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hello i'm back!!! i love all y'all beautiful, patient people
> 
> [mint condition playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/ckeur605d1f9ggvo5hxb9t2jh/playlist/5tX2qV7JpkGOBwbn0LYPHV?si=8q9u3b7xRk6S60dAm4rk5g)
> 
> [current writing playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/97uqw42x8wurnp3pw31jxr77x/playlist/39uWLc5G6Rk2wFVc2PYgbm?si=CTDRCO9vQvq3o-unPOS8xw)
> 
> if you'd like to see how to [support](https://itsdefinitive.tumblr.com/post/179201182822/support) me, hit that link!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm sure you could find a way to slip in without arousing suspicion."
> 
> "You saying I'm anti-android?"

_i push and you tend to shove_  
_i give in and you don't give up_  
_i'm not getting out of here this time_  
_i brought a lemon to a knife fight_  
__  
([the wombats](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nNh51G84WZY) \- [lemon to a knife fight](https://open.spotify.com/artist/0Ya43ZKWHTKkAbkoJJkwIB?si=WcGSCVkwSlS2HePsWeKc0Q))  


  


  


  


For the most part, Reed despised Tuesdays. They were his first day back from two days off, they were long, they were grim, and the end of every single one since December had seen him in Eliza's office getting mentally deconstructed. _Reprogrammed,_ his dad would have jokingly called it.

He failed to find it funny.

There was something about _that_ Tuesday, though -- probably that he'd spent the better part of the night getting dicked down -- that he felt like he was on cloud nine. As rough as Jack had been on the rest of him, as sore as he was from the heavy pressure of his body and as much as his skin still stung from the severe barehanded corporal punishment he'd begged for, Jack had over-insistently stretched his hole this time and turned him into a sloppy, squelching mess long before he'd slid his cock inside. It felt amazing. He felt like a new person.

Even seeing Richard hard at work fifteen minutes before he was scheduled to be there didn't take the wind out of his sails. His partner looked up, eyes critical, and didn't find anything to judge because Reed had covered his marked-up wrists with a long-sleeved Henley.

"You're in a good mood," he commented.

"Had a good night," Reed returned. It was easy banter. Felt nice. He had a nagging suspicion something was going to go terribly wrong later that day to punish him for his good mood.

"That's good. I've had no leads on any of the cases, but I let Captain Fowler know about the connection between them. He asked for any paperwork we might have to support that claim, so if you could draft a statement by Friday, it would expedite the process of allocating any resources we might need."

"Right to business," Reed said. "Cool." He sat down and opened up a document to work from, set his phone aside, and took a sip from the water he'd brought with him. His breakfast was still cooling off to a nonlethal temperature, so it could wait a little while.

"Detective, are you quite all right?"

"Course I am. Why?"

"You aren't usually this... upbeat."

"You mean usually I'm a dick. See, the thing about that is, usually people give me plenty of reason to be a dick. You're not gonna give me a reason, are you?"

"Not intentionally."

"Then I'm gonna continue to not be a dick."

"Noted," Richard said.

Reed barely minded that West had slipped through his fingers the day before.

He got to work cross referencing his files to put together a good enough essay to convince Fowler to make their reports a little extra expensive. Richard brought him physical copies of his case files and it made something in Reed's chest confusingly warm up that Richard had remembered his passing comment about having trouble reading screens. He pushed it aside and got to work kicking out a low-effort essay on the subject, knowing Fowler wouldn't turn down funding being funneled toward android crimes.

Most of the morning passed with Reed and Richard taking turns trotting down to the evidence room to take close-up snapshots of individual pieces of evidence. Fowler always had been a _works cited_ kind of guy, and Reed knew that if he overwhelmed the captain with more proof than he could potentially go through he would assume the best and sign away funding free and clear. Richard frowned at the idea.

"Couldn't someone potentially take advantage of that?"

"We're cops, dude."

"You know I'm not actually --"

"Fine, Geordi. You're special. 'Integrity first,' right? You're supposed to assume the best in people."

"You don't."

"I'm an anomaly."

"What about Chambers?"

"God, yes, assume the best about Chambers," Reed laughed. "Then when he gets caught there'll be decades worth of contradiction to throw him under the bus."

Richard shook his head. "For someone with such a strong sense of justice, you seem to thrive on schadenfreude."

"It's called coping," Reed said. They stared into the evidence bay in shared silence.

Reed's phone went off. Both of them flinched, and he could tell they were thinking the same thing -- _not another case._ They locked eyes as Reed retrieved the phone.

Relief flooded through him. He needed a moment to compose himself -- not from the relief, but from the realization he was _relieved_ to see it was Eliza and not something to do with his job. He felt like a rookie cop again, secretly dreading the potential gore his phone could hide behind every missed call.

"Nah," he said. "It's, uh. My doctor." He silenced the phone and let it cycle to voicemail.

"You aren't going to answer it?"

"Uh, no, I'm not."

"What if it's important?"

"Then she'll leave me a voicemail or call me back. Why do you care?"

It was strange, but he could swear Richard recoiled.

They returned to scouring the open bays. Reed wondered how much gorier the dispassionate scene seemed to Richard. He wondered what it looked like, the thirium he couldn't see staining everything. Maybe it helped that it wasn't thirium that had ever been cycled through an android. Maybe it helped that everything was so neat and removed from the scene of the crime.

Maybe it helped that Reed was keeping his mouth shut.

He glanced over at Richard's face in profile. The LED on his temple was its regular faintly luminescent blue, but something was definitely going on in his head. His expression gave it away. "You're thinking pretty hard," he accused.

"I am," Richard replied, approaching the bay containing Lew Saunders' personal effects. He trailed his fingers over the banged-up edges of a checkbook. "I wonder how the victims were chosen."

"It's people in established relationships, right? People with a publicly known romantic relationship. The victims all met in different places, so maybe there was somewhere android-friendly they frequented? They'd be fish in a barrel, at that point."

"There are a few explicitly android-friendly nightclubs."

"Any that won't let humans in?"

"I fail to see the relevance."

"So there are some."

"Can we stay focused on the case, please?"

"It's relevant," Reed protested. "If you can flash your badge and go through the guest book or whatever, you can find out if anyone there has enough chutzpah to talk about how much they hate, for example, interfaith marriages."

"And you could do the same in human-only establishments."

Reed gave him a sharp-toothed grin. "Now, you know that ain't legal anymore."

"I'm sure you could find a way to slip in without arousing suspicion."

"You saying I'm anti-android?"

"I'm saying you're not pro-android."

"Yeah? What about it?"

"It's surprising."

"I'm sorry, it's _surprising?_ What could possibly be surprising about that?"

There was a loaded silence. "Well, there's the android you have sexual liasons with," Richard said.

"Wow! Wow." Reed shook his head and planted his hands firmly on his hips, but he couldn't stop the beet-red flush that crawled double-time up his neck and over his face. "'Sexual liasons,' okay, that's what you went with. Way to jump to conclusions, Mr. Spock."

And there it was -- Richard's face twisted into a full-on scowl. "I didn't jump to conclusions, I compiled evidence --"

 _"'Compiled evidence?'_ You _compiled evidence_ on me?"

"You're intentionally making it sound like your high-risk behavior isn't my business."

"It isn't! It isn't your business. It's my time off, my life, _my_ fucking body, okay?"

"It becomes my business when you show up to work too compromised to concentrate because you're busy making plans based on the night before!"

"That's not true," Reed protested. "Name one time I've done that."

"Wednesday."

"Bull _shit!_ I haven't gotten laid in two weeks!"

Before Richard could bite back, the door at the top of the stairs swung open. It was a faint creak, but it stopped them both dead. Reed could feel his heart thumping around in the back of his throat, in the top of his mouth, through his tongue.

He wondered what Richard could feel.

"Gavin, Richard," Anderson's voice boomed down the steps. "You boys down there?"

Reed tore away from Richard like he'd been burned. "What's up," he called, voice remarkably level.

"We're goin' on break. You wanna go grab some coffee?"

"We'll be right up, Lieutenant," Richard said, eyes mulishly locked with Reed's.

"Shit," muttered Reed, and immediately stalked to the center console to close the evidence bays back into storage. He made a beeline for the stairs the moment the doors started their automated swing.

 _I'm not running,_ he told himself, and tried to believe it.

\---

Anderson and Connor were waiting at the curb next to Anderson's heap of shit car, which was idling and presumably warmed up. "Figured we could all use some fresh air," he said, and climbed into the driver's seat.

Connor climbed into the passenger seat.

Reed did his best to not let on his annoyance at being expected to sit bitch to the Wonder Twins. He fished out his phone and disaffectedly flipped through it, barely sparing more than the odd "yeah" or "uh huh" in response.

"Jesus, Gavin," Anderson finally muttered. "It's called basic social interaction."

"I'm thinking about the case, is that all right with you?"

"Not really. This is supposed to be a break."

"What can I say? I'm dedicated." He was distantly horrified to find that they were pulling up to his coffeeshop. "This is how I operate."

"And it's a leading cause of --"

"--burnout, yeah, I know, Thing Two over here already gave me your lecture on the subject."

"I didn't lecture you," Richard said. "I told you something you didn't seem to know."

"Oh, well, thanks for clarifying."

Thankfully, Kevin wasn't there, and he didn't have to look at the poor dumb kid falling all over himself for Mr. Freeze. He ordered a plain black coffee to keep up appearances as the precinct's most disaffected cop. To his surprise, Hank ordered the same. _He's never been this health-conscious before,_ Reed suspiciously thought. _Although, anything that keeps him from being one foot in the grave is a blessing._

They sat at a four-top. That was no easy feat with three Hulk-sized idiots, two of whom had no concept of personal space. Reed more than once found Richard's dress shoes extended into his leg space. Why did he need Reed's leg space? If he wanted to play footsie with someone he could have sat across from Connor. Instead of bothering Reed he could even have sat across from Anderson, so that Reed wouldn't have had to look at his stupid supermodel face --

_Wait._

_That was on purpose._

That was definitely on purpose. That was by design so that Richard could position Hank across from Connor. He'd crowded them against the wall and maneuvered Gavin into the aisle seat. Probably knew he'd instinctively gun for the more tactically secure seating. _Jesus, he's still playing shadchan? What the hell is he getting out of this?_

Richard shot him the gentlest version of a warning look that seemed possible.

_The fuck is that about?_

"I had a question," Richard said, "about the human condition."

Anderson's mostly-grey eyebrows rose. "For me? You can't ask Gavin?"

"The case we've been working on --"

Anderson laughed. "Richard, c'mon, you can't talk out both sides of your mouth. Are we on a break here, or not?"

"Let me finish, please. The case we're working on has me wondering. Do you think romantic relationships between humans and androids can be viable, or are we too incompatible?"

"No more incompatible than any two humans, right? Have you seen the divorce rate? I say if folks think dating someone different is the answer, let 'em try it out, you know? Nobody knows what makes them happy until they find it."

Connor perked up. It was a small enough motion to go almost unnoticed if Reed hadn't been paying attention. It was hard not to watch Richard's stunt double practically wag his fucking tail. _Wonder if he's in on this, or if Ricky is striking out on his own here._

"I see," Richard said thoughtfully.

"You sound disappointed. You get your question answered?"

"I can find plenty of reasons for androids to not want to involve themselves with humans. I'm trying to determine why a human would want to interfere in android-human affairs."

"Historical precedent, probably. Do you know for sure it's a human? What makes you think it isn't an android?"

"The work is methodical, but not exacting enough to be the work of an android. It can't be a mixed group; that would be adverse to the apparent praxis."

"See, now you tricked me into answering a bunch of work questions. Partnering with Gavin starting to rub off on you?"

"Excuse me?"

"The way you ask questions," Anderson said, and Reed was startled by his insight. "You're assuming the worst even in the way you ask them. Just like Gavin."

"I reject that. The natural state of things is chaotic enough for so-called 'success' to be improbable at best. The way I ask questions simply recognizes that."

"So you're saying that's more logical than how humans ask questions?"

"I am."

"That's not what Connor does."

"My protocols are modeled on upgraded RK800 software. Perhaps I'm simply more pragmatic by default."

"More pessimistic, maybe," Anderson said.

Connor interjected, but Reed let the words roll off of his consciousness. Something had caught his eye.

Something satisfying.

It was the man of the hour himself. Christopher West was seated at one of the tables in the corner with his back to the bar, engrossed in his phone, sipping at what was very probably another habitual black coffee. What a perfect opportunity. Reed waited for a lull in the conversation to excuse himself.

"I'll be right back," he said without interrupting, and slid out of his seat -- just like that. He even left his coffee on the table.

If he moved right, he'd have West cornered in the back away from the doors and windows, ripe for the picking. He moved slowly. Casually. He used his natural swagger to part the crowd. People were all too willing to slide out of his way without even seeing him.

He dropped his voice to a calm, friendly tone that he could barely hear through the blood pounding in his ears. "Chris?"

West looked up at him, unconcerned, and then down, down at the badge gleaming on his hip. That got his attention. Reed gave him an alligator smile. Too many teeth and the readiness to use them. West's posture was uncertain, unpredictable, and Reed pushed hard on the instability.

"You don't wanna cause a scene here, man," he said. He kept his voice low. Respectful, almost. Absolutely ready to deal. "We're just gonna take a ride downtown and work out this bench warrant bullshit. You can even finish your drink first."

"Shit," West sighed, and his body sagged back against the chair. Defeat. Reed relaxed. He couldn't believe the collar was this easy.

Until it wasn't.

West coiled like a snake and burst through him, smashing him back into the stationary bar. Pain shocked through his mid-spine where it had collided with the wood, and the air exploded from his lungs. Spots fleetingly danced in his vision as he struggled to keep his footing.

And West was running.

"Shit," Reed choked, and forced himself upright. He knocked over a chair in his wake, but he was on the move in seconds, blowing past Connor and Anderson and, yes, even Richard, who made an unsuccessful grab for his arm. He blew threw the doors a few seconds beind West, who had already sprinted toward the nearest autocab stand.

Within milliseconds, _OUT OF SERVICE_ cascaded across the marquees topping each cab. Frustrated, West slammed his fist against one of the locked windows before changing course to continue perilously across the street.

Well, Reed wasn't about to be outdone for perilous.

He crossed after West at a sprinter's pace, dodging vehicles that were already performing panicked skid-stops in his target's wake. Unlike the day before, this time he had his gun on his hip and handcuffs on his belt. He was _ready._ It put an extra burst of speed in his step. "Detroit Police, Chris! Don't move!"

Behind him, he heard Richard's echo -- "Detroit Police!" -- at least fifty feet behind him. It wasn't a large gap, but it was still a fairly healthy one. He probably still had a chance to cuff West before that plastic mother fucker could even catch up. He followed West down an alley, down a splinter of a side street, up a parking garage ramp, up the adjoining stairs --

\-- god, it was a good thing he had started hitting the gym more frequently.

"You ain't getting away this time, Chris," he taunted.

"Fuck you, pig!"

"Oh, now _that's_ not very nice."

West threw down a brochure display in response, obviously hoping to slow down pursuit. Reed easily trotted around it. 

"You're wasting your time, Chris, I got all day for this shit, I'm salaried!"

And West's size was starting to show. His cardio health wasn't nearly enough to support all that bulk. He could take stairs like a champ, sure, probably even with fifty pounds on each arm, but speed and endurance had always been Reed's strong suit. He followed West up one side of the parking garage and down the other, taking the landings and corners more easily than his playmate, and suddenly Richard slid up on his left as he sprinted clean out of the parking garage in hot pursuit of his quarry.

"Shit," he huffed out. "You're like a fucking ghost."

"I called for backup," Richard returned. "He has a gun and a knife. Are you wearing any protection?"

"Got two condoms in my breast pocket."

"So, no tactical vest."

"For a coffee break? Get real." Talking was starting to take its toll. A half mile at a full sprint was no joke. Sweat beaded down his temples and into his eyes, making him regret the security of his leather jacket. He pushed himself through the wall of exhaustion. The more corners this dumb piece of shit rounded, the easier catching up to him was going to be. West flew down the street and hung a sharp right into a semi-abandoned apartment complex erected in the nineties.

Fantastic. Reed knew the layout of that place like the back of his hand. It was practically home turf.

"Don't get in my way," he warned.

"Reed --"

But he couldn't hear the rest of Richard's sentence. He burst through the double doors after West. He wondered if West knew what he knew: that the flight of steps at one end of the complex wasn't mirrored on the other side, that he'd have to take the janky elevator or fly out the window to get past Reed.

"Reed," snapped Richard, annoyed, not winded in the slightest, because of course he fucking wasn't, "you're going to back him into a corner and you don't know how he'll react."

"Violently, I bet," Reed returned, and threw open the stairwell door. It was wide enough for two people to comfortably go up in tandem. He just couldn't let Richard get ahead of him and interfere. This was _his_ collar, and by god, he was getting the credit, not that dumb fucking rookie. He climbed the steps, tasting copper in the back of his throat, glad the chase was nearly over. There was nowhere for West to run. "You need to fuckin' stay on the stairs in case he slides around to the hallway."

"That doesn't make sense." Richard bristled in full Rottweiler mode. "You should stay on the steps and I should pursue. If he shoots you you'll be out of commission for weeks."

"He's not gonna shoot me, he's gonna _surrender,_ and I might just beat his ass for making me chase him."

"That's police brutality."

"Shut the fuck up, I can't hear where he is."

They paused on the landing. Richard was maddeningly silent, but Reed could barely hear over his own labored breathing. He struggled to listen.

A door slammed above them.

"Not the roof," Reed wheezed. "Second. Second to last. Dumb mother fucker."

"I can hear him," Richard confirmed. "He's headed to the other side of the building. He doubtless thinks there's another stairwell."

"Let's go let's _go."_ Reed struggled back into the momentum he'd lost by pausing. The edges of his vision were dark with lack of oxygen. He refused, _refused,_ to give in before Richard.

And Richard wasn't going to give in. He was saying something unimportant again. Reed couldn't hear over his own bloodstream. He ignored it and made a dash up the stairs.

They reached the top of the landing, they rounded the corner as a single creature, and there West was -- waiting for them, drenched in sweat, his gun out, his gun aimed at the narrow sliver of empty space between the two of them. There couldn't have been a ten foot difference between them.

"Don't move," he said.

Reed had his gun unholstered in no time, but it was still no contest for West. West, who was sliding the gun back and forth between them in steady, practiced hands.

Richard immediately put up his hands. He jerked his head for Reed to follow suit.

Reed didn't.

"I said _don't move!_ Put your gun down!"

"Which one is it," Reed snapped, "you want me to hold still or --"

 

The air cracked 

in half.

 

 

There was a spray of blue forceful enough to splatter across Reed's face. Richard's head snapped back like a screen door slamming open in the wind. He hit the ground and tumbled forward like someone severed his strings.

There was a hole just off-center in his forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What are you, my mother?"
> 
> "If I were your mother, you probably wouldn't be a police officer."

_romeo is bleeding as he gives the man his ticket_  
_and he climbs the balcony at the movies_  
_and he'll die without a whimper, like every hero's dream_  
_just an angel with a bullet and cagney on the screen_  
__  
([tom waits](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iGFAyZtI-YM) \- [romeo is bleeding](https://open.spotify.com/track/2g8SL3aQv1c2Yh7aPJRsyk?si=7JTZJmp9TemtDkcsGBGk2w))  


  


  


  


He knew Richard wasn't organic. Knew it. Knew there was no sheen of biological life to leave his eyes. That didn't change how empty they looked staring directionless from the floor of the filthy apartment landing. 

They looked nothing like Elijah's numbing picture book said they would.

 

                      Reed's mind was

                trembling, blank,

           his reality stumbling and  
                hitching as his

heart caught up. It felt like years before he was

able to take his eyes off of Richard's. West was sliding the gun over to him, but it was slow motion, slower than Reed could comprehend, torn as he was between protectively covering Richard and

"You son of a bitch!"

stumbling upright to throw himself headlong at West. He dodged the next percussive blast from West's handgun through no finesse of his own. Sheer chance sent it whizzing past his ear. Another tore a bright hole up the length of his forearm. His ears were already ringing. 

But ten feet was a very short distance to try to fend off an angry cop. 

Reed closed the gap and let his body run on autopilot:

he physically launched himself at West, sending him staggering back. Reed was the average height for a man his age, and West was massive, but it was hard to argue with the momentum of a hundred seventy-some pounds. When they hit the ground and skid, it was with Reed's knees locked around the bastard's ribs, clenched tight enough for Reed to feel a sickening strain that spurred him on. His hands balled up of their own accord and he let them connect, one after the other, building momentum under the resistance of West's face. West struggled under him, but Reed's understanding of the world faded to his fists -- the satisfying pain in them, the blood splattering under his knuckles a mix of West's and his own impact-split skin --

He couldn't think. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. It wasn't --

"Please," West begged. "Please --"

Please?

The simple request snapped Reed out of the blood fury he'd found himself in. Put his head right, in a way. Reminded him there was so much more he could do than expend all this effort to just cave that bastard in. He could do it faster. Finish him the way he'd finished Richard. Not mercy, just brutal efficiency. Richard deserved that much.

He deserved so much more. So much more.

Reed reached back and pulled his knife, he shifted his grip, he swung it down.

A strong, rough hand caught him around his upraised forearm and gracelessly dragged him off the man that killed Richard. Reed spat and snarled, kicking like a feral animal, free hand scratching and scrabbling against the hand locked around his arm.

Anderson.

It was Anderson that pulled him into a headlock, who shucked the knife out of his hand with an expert flick of the wrist and dragged him upright.

"Let me go, motherfucker, let me go, let me go--"

Reed defensively reached up to fight against that hold, but Anderson wasn't choking him out, he was just keeping a warning grip on Reed's throat with the crook of his elbow. Reed struggled anyway, but Anderson had twenty years and thirty pounds on him. He could hold that pose for days.

After a few uncountable minutes were lost to Reed forever, the white lightning bolt of rage holding his spine straight dissipated. It left an empty despair in its wake, and he sagged against Anderson's chest, unseeing.

He couldn't -- he couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. He was distantly aware of tears streaming down his face. _Richard._ Richard, still and silent, Richard, not fighting back, _Richard--_

Eventually, Anderson let him go, righted him, made him take his own weight. Reed mutely let him. He couldn't move, though, not with the knowledge that just behind Anderson was his partner's -- his partner's corpse.

The fog in his head slowly, slowly lifted.

Connor was there, too. He had a medical kit in his hands, and --

he wasn't seeing to Richard. Connor was stabilizing West, he was stabilizing a fucking _murderer,_ a cop killer, stabilizing the piece of shit that took Richard away from him, or from them, or whatever, the bastard that deserved to choke to death, to drown in his own blood -- Connor was tending to him carefully, ensuring that his neck was supported, that he was stablized, that he wasn't going to choke to death on his own blood. He wasn't going to die.

He wasn't going to die like Richard had died.

Reed's vision blurred, but the expected wave of violent hatred never washed over him. He blinked hot, wet, felt his blood turn to slush in his chest. He thought he might be sick, but his training wouldn't let him react the way he wanted to. Wouldn't let him violate the sanctity of the crime scene. Anderson kept a steadying hand on his back.

"C'mon, son," he murmured. "You don't need to see this." 

His touch was gentle as he gingerly turned Reed around, clasping him like he was made of glass. Reed felt the rumble of his voice as he spoke. "Connor, I'm taking Gavin downstairs."

"All right, Lieutenant." Connor didn't keep his voice neutral. He was upset. 

Reed had never heard him _upset_ before. He laughed. It came out as a dry, voiceless sob. He let Anderson guide him, stumbling, toward the stairwell.

couldn't -- breathe, he couldn't think, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't --

Behind them, there was a quiet groan.

Heart lurching, Reed pushed Anderson away, and -- God, there was thirium everywhere, but Richard rolled onto his side, looking minorly inconvenienced at worst. Reed stumbled over and all but fell on top of him. His limbs felt like lead, heavy with shock, heavy with relief

"A minor setback." The sheer amount of thirium barely seemed to inconvenience him. His forehead was a gently pulsating geyser of blue blood. Reed wiped at it in vain. It stained his hand that horrifying, violent blue. "Cosmetic at best."

"You -- I thought you were --"

"Industrial plating," Richard said. His expression was disoriented, maybe distressed, but his tone was strange. Not flat, but factory fresh. Wholly inappropriate for the moment. He sounded like Connor. He sounded like fucking _Connor._ "Effective even at that range."

"Jesus Christ, Richard--"

"So you do know my name," Richard murmured. He reached up and touched the slowly sealing hole in his forehead. "I get shot in the head and you finally know my name."

"Please stop talking," Reed begged. "Please. It's --"

He couldn't finish.

He didn't have to. 

  


Richard's hand found his wrist. His fingers were cool on Reed's burning skin.

  


And he stayed silent.

 

  


"Gavin," Connor gently said. "Please move."

When had he gotten so close? How had Reed not heard him coming? Why was Anderson overtop of him, putting a hand on his shoulder, gently urging him backward, grip careful like Reed might explode on him? "C'mon, kid," he was saying. "I'm gonna take you downstairs. C'mon."

"You're kidding, right?" It sounded like someone else's voice coming out of his mouth -- raspy, strained. He barely recognized it. Richard let go of his wrist. Somehow that demagnetized him from the situation, and he allowed Anderson to pull his weight up and guide him back to the grungy stairwell. He felt physically weak, as if _he_ was the one who had been shot.

And he didn't want to leave Richard behind. He needed to make sure he was okay. He should have been the one standing there, making sure he was okay. It was his partner. His responsibility.

When Reed got to the bottom of the stairs, he threw up.

\---

Reed refused the insult of a shock blanket, but he did remain seated on the bumper of an EMT vehicle rather than go back to the coffeeshop. He didn't want anyone to see him in the state he was in. His weak knees and the thirium splashed over his face and chest were a badge of shame.

That was his fault. Everything that had just happened in there was his fault. He had gotten Richard _killed._ Richard hadn't had a say in the matter. By trusting Reed's judgment, by following him upstairs, by putting himself in the same amount of danger -- it should have been Reed lying on that gurney.

It didn't matter to him one bit that Richard was still alive.

A voice called out to him from just beyond the holotape. "Gavin?"

Of course it was Kevin.

"Oh my God, are you okay? You're bleeding!"

"Oh," Reed said, blearily observing the steady leak of blood out of his sleeve. "Don't worry, it's not as bad as it looks."

Kevin was through the tape in an instant. Reed was immediately glad Richard was already in an ambulance. Despite his partner's protest that his calibration was adequate, that his biocomponents were functioning at a sustainable level, Connor had insisted. Anderson had deferred to Connor. Reed had stayed out of it. He couldn't look Richard in the eye.

Without hesitation, Kevin took his bloody arm in both April-chilled hands. "Don't you need someone to look at this?"

"They already did. I'll live, Kevin, I promise."

"Did you get _shot?!"_

"Kevin. It's my job."

"You -- you have thirium all over your face --"

Sure enough, when Reed swiped at his face, deep blue came away. The thirium and blood ran together, mixing like oil and water. He hadn't known thirium was so dense. The blood bubbled to the top and left an oily, protein-laden sheen, iridiscent, gasoline spill pretty.

"Everything's fine. You shouldn't be on this side of the tape, Kev."

"And you shouldn't be bleeding! Where's Richard?"

"He's fine," Reed abruptly said. He cleared his throat. "Aren't you gonna be late to work?"

"I'm on my way home. Quit trying to make me leave. Would you leave if I got shot?"

"I really don't think that's a fair comparison."

"Why not? This might be your job, but pain impairs your faculties. It doesn't do the same thing to me if my biocomponents are at least functional."

"Just for that, you get shot and I'm leaving you to bleed out."

"Ha ha ha," Kevin scowled.

It struck Reed that six months ago, his faux-threat might have been serious. His knuckles stung where the thirium from Richard's injury had leaked into his open wounds. He wondered if it was toxic. He fruitlessly scrubbed at the stain on his skin -- at the place where the thirium and his own blood were starting to coagulate and flake away. Kevin urged his jacket open and put his hand directly on his chest, checking him for injury. "Personal space, dude," Reed muttered. "EMS already looked me over."

"You mean EMS asked you if you were okay, and you said yeah, and now you're sitting here with your arm leaking like you've got a faulty biocomponent."

"What are you, my mother?"

"If I were your mother, you probably wouldn't be a police officer."

"Gavin," Anderson called from the driver's side of his shitty sedan. "Did someone take a look at your arm?"

"Yeah," Reed said, locking eyes with Kevin, daring him to counter. "You rollin'?"

"Back to the precinct. Fowler said if EMS cleared you I'm supposed to take you by the office and then drop you off at home."

"What, like I can't drive?" Reed hopped off the ambulance bumper and sulked all the way over to Anderson's car, careful not to leak anywhere. _Stop punishing yourself,_ came Eli's voice in his head.

As usual, he studiously ignored it.

The passenger seat was empty; Connor was nowhere to be found. Reed suspected he was with Richard, but couldn't bring himself to ask. Couldn't put himself in the position to hear his partner's name. Couldn't get the image of Richard's eyes, open but unseeing, vitality leeched away, staring straight ahead and accusing, _afraid_ \--

"You could have killed him," said Anderson. There wasn't any judgment in his voice.

Guilt kicked him in the heart. "What?"

"West."

"Good."

Anderson took in his relaxed demeanor, how he didn't seem to care about how much trouble he was potentially in. That was the secret: he didn't. "God, am I glad you're not a criminal."

"Tell me you wouldn't have done the same."

"I'm old," Anderson chuckles. "My brain would have caught up before my reflexes took over. I would've tased him."

"Bullshit. You would've torn out his spine if it was Connor."

Anderson looked very much like he wanted to provide some kind of protest, but he kept silent. Good. Reed didn't want to hear whatever bullshit twenty-ten-cop wisdom he was going to provide, and sure as hell didn't want to hear about his budding fucking romance with his onboard GPS.

In a few days' time when they're back at work, shooting the shit in the break room, Anderson tells him that he was screaming bloody murder when he leapt on West.

Reed won't remember doing it, but believing it is easy -- his voice stays raw for days.

\---

Fowler sighed and chucked a file onto the desk between them. "I need you to fill out some paperwork and then leave your badge and gun here. You're on leave until Shaw looks this over and clears you for duty."

"What the fuck?"

"Are you serious right now?"

"Yeah, I'm serious! I defend my fucking crew and you throw me on suspension?"

"You beat the suspect half to death, Gavin!"

"Good! He wasn't a suspect! He shot a police officer in the fucking head!"

"Gavin--"

"That's my _partner!"_

"That was President Warren's nephew," Fowler somberly interrupted. The saliva caught in Reed's throat. He nearly stopped breathing.

"So this is about politics."

"I said you're suspended," Fowler snapped. When he got up from the desk, Reed knew he had fucked up. Fowler very rarely used his physical stature to his advantage. "You're lucky it's with pay. Don't make me say it again."

Reed slung his badge onto the desk. "Anderson's got my gun," he spat. "But you _know_ this is bullshit."

"Gavin."

"Yeah, have a good fucking day."

Reed wrapped his coat around his shoulders as he left and shook a cigarette free of the dwindling pack in his breast pocket. He caught sight of himself in a reflective surface: haggard, eyes glassy, hair greasy from stress. God. He needed something to drink. But Anderson was waiting for him by his desk -- he had to play it cool. Didn't want to alarm the old bastard when he was in protective mentor mode. Reed grabbed a haphazard stack of files to keep up appearances and pushed past Anderson to the lobby exit. He could feel Fowler's penetrating gaze on his back.

The ride back to his apartment was thick with a heavy silence. Reed felt stuck in some kind of liminal emotional space: mourning but not mourning, afraid but not afraid, angry but exhausted. He didn't know how to handle the overflow of energy except to leave Anderson with his car keys and go into his dark house to collapse facedown on the couch, still in his jacket and empty holster.

An ungraspable amount of time later, his phone went off in his jacket pocket. He grunted quietly and slapped at his chest until it was up against his face. "Yeah?"

"Hey Gav," Tina breezily said. "I traded shifts with someone. I'll be back tomorrow."

"Yep," he said, voice clipped. "Have fun."

"You okay?"

"I was asleep."

"Okay," she said, but he could hear the doubt in her voice. "Text me if you get bored."

"Yeah," he said again, and hung up. Alcohol it was. He got up and shucked off his jacket, returning only once he had a bottle of whiskey and a glass of water, and turned the television on to the weather on mute so he could stare mindlessly at the forecast. 

Barring his early days in the amateur leagues of college, Reed had been drinking for the sake of coping semi-professionally since becoming a detective. Drinking to forget, though -- that was something different. It required a steady hand and the resolve to stay focused on absolutely nothing. Reed wasn't very good at it. He supposed it was part of the reason he was so angry all the time. He just couldn't turn it off, couldn't push anything aside, couldn't compartmentalize, 

_compartmentalization envy, huh?_ Richard's face, mildly shocked, definitely afraid, a crackling hole streaming blue just off-center in his forehead

"Shit," Reed said aloud, and took a deep pull directly from the bottle. The soothing swirl of the Doppler radar drew him in. He watched the digital depiction of the sun rising and falling over the weekend, dragging more storms in its wake, always partly cloudy, never partly sunny. The temperature slid gently through ups and downs and the highs and lows slowly made themselves more distinct. Highs slipping into the 60s at the end of the month, suburban Wayne County chillier in comparison, and he thought of Beverly Saunders alone in her well-kept house but for the presence of her last living son.

The weather channel faded into national news and then to a documentary about deaths on Mount Everest. Fucking depressing. Reed didn't change the channel. Refusing to move was as much a part of the game as faithfully draining the bottle in his hand.

There was a tentative knock at the front door.

"Shit," Reed muttered, his heart suddenly doing an end-of-marathon sprint. For a terrible moment he thought it was Elijah. It couldn't be. He wouldn't dare. And Tina had keys, so -- but maybe she'd forgotten them? He staggered to his feet, trying not to puke from the rush of sickly warmth that flooded his gut and tickled the bottom of his throat. She wouldn't judge him. She would press the truth out of him as surely as a doctor would set a broken nose, with a merciless grip that would help in the end more than it hurt in the beginning.

No. Not Tina.  
It was a ghost.

"You're drunk," Richard said. He sounded disappointed.

"If you could get drunk," Gavin said, struggling to keep his voice steady, "you would be, too."

"But you're okay?"

"Fuck you." Exhaustion overtook him. He swayed in the doorframe and leaned heavily on it for support. "What do you want. Why are you here."

"You're not," Richard muttered, rolling his eyes. He pressed forward. Reed should have had the sense to step backward, but he didn't, and Richard was suddenly supporting him with a firm grip on his uninjured arm -- clasping him just under the elbow, holding up his weight. "You're bleeding."

"I'm fine." It stung, the disapproval, the overtaxation of his body when he should have had plenty of fluids and painkillers and gone to bed. "I'm -- don't touch me. I'm fine."

"Reed, honestly." Richard pushed the door shut and relocked it with the security chain. "You should be resting."

" _You_ should be resting, what the fuck is wrong with you, why are you here?"

"I don't need to rest. I came to check on you. I didn't want you to be left at the scene that way."

"What _way."_

"Without any support. I'm sure Hank didn't want to intrude, but he shouldn't have left you to your own devices like this."

"I don't need a fucking babysitter." How had they gotten to the bathroom? Why weren't they on his couch, comfortably watching the weather channel together? Where was the fucking justice?

Why was Richard carefully tending to his arm, cool hands wiping the hot blood away?

Reed put a steadying hand on Richard's shoulder and looked closely at his face -- at the blank expanse of fine-lined skin over his brow, furrowed in real concern, where a blown-out hole from a bullet should have been. It was unsettling. He reached out to touch the space and was surprised by the realness, the softness, of his freckled skin. "You're warm," he mumbled.

Richard froze where he was cleaning Reed's arm. It was uglier than Reed remembered, the surrounding skin pink with pain. Those colorless eyes fluttered momentarily. "Gavin," he said.

Reed's stomach clenched with heat. "What," he snapped. He watched his own thumb carefully stroke Richard's skin. Yeah. Soft. Warm, like a human's. His fingertips were just barely cupping the side of Richard's face, breaching the line into his dark hair. He was surprised that the LED hidden by his palm wasn't battery-hot.

Richard looked up at him. How had Reed not seen how thick and dark his eyelashes were before this? "How much have you had to drink?"

"A lot," Reed said. "Didn't want to think."

"Idiot." Richard's quick hands were already redressing his arm. It didn't hurt. He'd had enough whiskey to numb his limbs. Apart from the faint sting, the pressure felt nice. "Alcohol is a blood thinner."

"Didn't want to kill myself."

"You're suicidal?"

"Only, like, casually. Keep your shirt on."

"Unbelievable," Richard said, but his scolding ended there. He took Reed by the shoulders and carefully helped him down from his seated slump on the bathroom counter. The proximity was dangerously close to a hug.

"Go home," Reed mumbled toward Richard's chest. "You don't gotta be here."

"I wanted to check on you," Richard admitted.

"What?"

"I had to make sure you were okay."

"I'm fine. Look at me," Reed slurred. "M'fine. I'm not the one that got shot. In the head."

"Your issues with substance abuse --"

Cold gripped his gut. "Excuse me?"

"Alcohol? You're drunk right now?"

"Look, man, I can take care of myself. Been doing it since before you were a twinkle in Elijah's sociopathic eye."

"Between the two of you, I believe you to be a better candidate for 'sociopath.' Your nephew more closely resembles a psychopath."

"Please don't call him that." Reed felt his weight sagging under him, loose and heavy, dragging him toward the cold tile. He fought against it. He felt sick. Richard's arms appeared on either side of him, bracing him against the counter. His expression was deceptively neutral, except for those eyes, those fucking _eyes --_ "Get off me."

"I won't leave you like this."

"Fuck you."

"I'm afraid of what you might do."

"Fuck you. I do what I want."

Richard's broad hand was cool on his overheated cheek. "I know. That's the problem."

"I don't want to look at you." Reed pushed on his chest. He needed space. Richard grabbed his wrist. Some distant logical part of him explained it away as Richard wanting to prevent further strain to the injury he'd just bandaged. But then Richard was leaning forward, leaning toward him, cornering him against the space where the counter met the wall, and sliding his other arm around him, up his shoulder, to cradle the back of his neck, and --

"I'm sorry. You idiot. I thought you were going to die."

"Shut the fuck up," Reed hissed, and his voice was tight with the strain of holding back some secret thing bubbling up in his chest. The pressure of Richard's fingers was gentle but insistent, and Reed could feel them slowly adapt to the warmth of his body, absorbing it, retaining it. He held Reed tightly. Held him like he couldn't imagine letting go.

Reed choked on a breath, and then another one, and couldn't explain why his eyes filled up with tears. He grabbed the front of Richard's expensive fucking button up shirt. "You piece of shit."

"You wouldn't _listen,_ " Richard said. Reed could feel the softness of his pretty mouth where it grazed his brow. "Why don't you ever listen?"

"I'm too drunk for this." His voice was too thick for him to keep talking. The relief, the horrible fucking relief that he didn't deserve, overtook his thoughts. Richard was okay. He was okay. He was alive. He was here.

"Okay," Richard said. He sounded -- emotional. Overwhelmed. His arms tightened briefly. "You don't have to say anything. I'm sorry."

"Stop fucking apologizing."

"Gavin --"

"Stop saying that. Please. Please just -- please just shut up."

And he did. Richard held him until he hiccuped his way back into steady breathing, and when he could see again he let Richard lead him into his own bedroom and put him to bed.

He didn't dream.

And when he woke up to see blue light gently glowing within the safety of his blackout curtains, he knew he wasn't alone. 

He wasn't afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to 100,000 words
> 
> and they finally fucking hugged
> 
> i'm so exhausted lmfao


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I need you to listen while I have you here. I trust you."
> 
> "Well, you fucking shouldn't."

_what's the problem with the human race?_  
_with someone like you_  
_no matter where i turn_  
_i can't escape your double face_  
__  
([treble charger](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JZqCwEgOv1k) \- [american psycho](https://open.spotify.com/track/32ciOwXgDZEiSP2IIyAiyz?si=gw809Se0QKO5E4OFF1891Q))  


  


  


  


The second time Reed woke up, it was to the smell of food wafting into his still-dark bedroom. He was still drunk. He slowly peeled himself out from under the covers he'd been carefully tucked into and looked around.

No faint blue light. No Richard.

There were a few aspirin alongside a glass of water on his bedside table. He was still in his jeans, but he'd been divested of his shoes and belt. Something similar in the back of his head nagged at him, but his headache displaced any critical thought. He slid out of the bed, grateful his socks were on to shield him from the cold, and staggered downstairs with only a touch of telltale wobble in his step.

Richard was barefoot in his kitchen, down to his slacks and undershirt. The sleek charcoal crewneck made him look far softer than his usual getup. It was strange, oddly intimate, to see how his arms were dappled with freckles.

"Morning," Reed said. It didn't seem to startle his partner. He supposed his adventure down the stairs had been clearly audible.

"It's just past midnight."

"You're still here."

"I didn't want to leave before you woke up." Richard picked up the spatula and, one by one, carefully turned the eggs over in the pan. It was like watching a novice chopstick user try to eat Chinese food.

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

"I feel guilty," Richard said frankly. "You had no way to know--"

"I swear, if you keep fucking self-flagellate-- self-- self-flagellating yourself," Reed said, and immediately regretted trying to speak so quickly, he was definitely still far more drunk than sober, "fuck, you just, you gotta stop doing it, man."

"I was irresponsible with your life."

"You have gotta just -- this is me strongly advising you to shut up." Reed landed a heavy hand on Richard's shoulder and gripped it firmly. "You're not the one that did something wrong, okay? You followed me. You shouldn't follow me."

"You tried to warn me."

"Rich. Ricky, I would be in the morgue if you hadn't been there for him to shoot instead."

"You don't know that." Richard slid the eggs and some greens onto a plate. "Your method may have worked if you'd been by yourself." With mysterious timing, the toaster Reed barely remembered having popped two perfect pieces free.

Dealing with someone this stubborn was infuriating. He wanted to grab Richard, shake him, berate him for his hardheadedness and his insistence that he be the one to take the blame, but he couldn't do any of that when Richard was pressing a plate into his hands and was guiding him to sit down at his own kitchen table.

The food was good. Not average, not great -- good. It surprised him. Reed would have assumed some kind of chef programming was a standard feature for androids. Jack's concept of something 'thrown together' was on the same level of gourmet as anything his sister's housekeeper would make for lunch. But Richard seemed to be an entirely different class from Jack. Reed wondered how much of that had to do with when he was awakened.

"Lieutenant Anderson says greasy food is a comfort during a hangover," Richard said. "Though, you don't seem to have very much in the way of groceries."

"I eat out a lot."

"I see."

"And I don't usually get hangovers. And I'm not hung over."

"You're dehydrated, drowsy, have dry mouth, increased cardiac output--"

"You can't be hung over if you're still drunk."

"My mistake," Richard said dryly. "Did you take the pain medication I left for you?"

"Never look a gift horse in the mouth," Reed declared, and wasn't able to keep the surprise from his face when Richard sat down across the table.

"We should talk," he said.

"Now? While I'm eating?"

"Is that somehow a bar to conversation?"

"I mean, if we're being honest, I don't really wanna talk about what happened."

"To me, specifically?"

"At all. What are you, a fucking psychologist?"

"I'm just trying to communicate with you."

"Maybe pick a time I'm not drunk." Reed mopped at the remnants of the egg with his toast. He hadn't realized he'd been so hungry. Thinking back on it, he hadn't eaten since before _you want me to hold still or--_

He put his hand over his mouth, suddenly 

               feeling sick.

"Reed," Richard said, reaching across the table.

"Don't touch me. Fuck."

And he didn't. He withdrew and let Reed ride out the wave of nausea on his own. Let him avoid his eyes and spend a solid chunk of time with his face buried in his hands. By the time Reed was ready to pick his head up again, Richard had already washed the dishes and put them away. The kitchen was cleaner than when he'd started.

"You can't like that domestic shit," he said gruffly.

"I can." Richard carefully dried his hands on his slacks. "The attraction may simply be that it's not what I was built to do."

"Rebellion, huh?" Damn, his mouth _was_ dry, and he had a burning need for a cigarette. He tried not to look at Richard -- Richard, with his perfect posture and 

"It's a challenge." Richard's eyes were distant. "It's a challenge to -- not do the things I was built for. If I didn't have the urge to follow my base programming, I'd know who I was."

"Would you, though?"

"What do you mean?"

"C'mon, Rick. People don't 'just know' who they are. They don't even know what they want to _do._ Takes years of introspection."

"I'm supposed to be an advanced model."

"You were built by a human. Programmed by a human. And if a computer did any assembly, _that_ computer was built by a human. Doesn't matter how advanced you are, man, you were built by us fuckups." Reed rubbed at his eyes. "Fuck, fuck, I need to go back to bed if I'm gonna work in the morning."

"Didn't Captain Fowler put you on paid leave?"

"Shit," Reed mumbled, and inexplicably felt tears prickle at his eyes. "Yeah. Listen. I, uh--"

"I appreciate what you did."

"What?"

"I saw the suspension papers. West is in custody in the hospital right now. And while he may be exonerated because of his connections, you tried to exact retribution for what he did."

"Anderson should have let me."

"You would have paid for it."

"I'm paying for it now." Reed picked at the hem of his sweater. It wasn't the one he'd been wearing the day before; it was softer, more comfortable, more suited to falling asleep in. It was only then that he noticed his hands had been cleaned and bandaged -- that he didn't reek of blood and sweat.

Richard really _was_ grateful. 

"Listen," he started, but stopped almost as quickly. Direct eye contact from Richard was jarring. He had eyes that could filter the moonlight into the room even with the shades drawn. He could hardly move when they bored into him.

"Humans are fragile," Richard said. "I didn't really realize that."

"What brought _that_ up?"

"Your hands." Richard looked down at his expertly-bandaged knuckles. "You were bleeding from hitting West. I want you to get tested in case he wasn't clean."

"I didn't think about that."

"From what I understand, you were really only thinking about the one thing."

Reed felt the bile rise again. Again. Further, this time, thick like a bubble in an old-school construction level, neon yellow green. "Man, I had to watch you get shot in the fucking face."

"I'm not angry."

"What?"

"I need you to understand that. I'm not angry."

"You're not fucking expendable, you piece of shit --"

"Reed." Richard put a hand on his arm. It felt intimate. It _was_ intimate. Reed wanted to recoil from the contact, but he forced himself to stay put. "I'm not angry. It wasn't your fault."

"I'm too drunk for this shit, man, I'm gonna need you to shut up."

"I need you to listen while I have you here. I trust you."

"Well, you fucking shouldn't."

"Why not? What happened back there wouldn't have happened if I had trusted you enough to not follow you."

"Shut up, will you just _shut up?"_

"No," Richard said, and his voice was low. "Someone needs to tell you the truth. It may as well be me."

Reed closed his eyes. The pressure of Richard's hand on his arm, solid and present, was a strange reassurance. His fingers had warmed under the exposure to Reed's body heat. He was really there. 

They were both really there.

He felt his heartrate slowly recede. He couldn't put his finger on why his partner's presence was a comfort -- his partner who he could barely tolerate, his partner who was close enough Reed could count the panels and interlocking joints in the pearlescent white chassis that made up the outer shell of his hand.

It was so strange that his touch felt exactly the same.

"Your hand," he said, and nearly missed the split-second of fear on Richard's face. His own heart caught up and shadowed it, making an awful racket in his chest. It was physically painful.

"I'm sorry. I forgot." Just like that, the strange substance that made up the heft and elasticity of Richard's skin closed back over his fingers. The hand on his arm became more stable, more theoretically heavy, where it rested. But -- fear. _Fear._ He was afraid. Of Reed? Of--

"If you're a _computer_ and you forget shit, what chance do the rest of us have?" Richard did not withdraw. It made Reed's tongue sputter. "Hate the lights in this fucking kitchen," he said. "S'too fucking bright. If you're gonna hold me hostage we could at least go in the living room."

"Reed," Richard sighed, but there was no follow-up. He just waited for Reed to get up and stagger into the living room, where he collapsed on one end of his couch. The absence of Richard's hand left a heavy inverted imprint on his awareness.

They stayed like that for some time, Reed sprawled bonelessly on one side, Richard seated on the other in a state of relaxation that wouldn't have been out of place on a department store mannequin. The comfortable silence between them stretched on long enough for the living room ceiling to stop whirling over Reed's head and a faint headache to set in.

"There is a story I want you to hear," Richard said, "but I'm hesitant to share it while you're drunk."

"I'm not _that_ drunk."

"Would you drive?"

Reed scowled and sank sideways, eyes closed, into the solidity of Richard's still frame. It was unpliant. Not as still as it had been not twelve hours before. Pain prickled in his chest, in his throat, in his knuckles.

"You should drink less," Richard quietly said in his ear.

"I should do a lot of things less. This is a decent alternative."

"It really isn't."

"So send me to fuckin' rehab," Reed huffed, and immediately regretted it. The words were a painful multi-era echo that swallowed him whole.

"I'm sending you to bed."

"It's _my house."_

"And I'm sending you to bed."

"Fuck you," Reed yawned, and was startled by Richard's hand on the small of his back.

"Up."

Reed climbed to his feet under duress and checked the clock. Barely four in the morning. He didn't want to go to bed, but he didn't have the strength to argue. Richard's hand was firm where his spine settled against it, groove for groove, notch for notch. That gyroscope pressure steadied him up the stairs and down the hallway, but the door to his bedroom was where Reed drew the line. He shook himself free.

"What's the matter?"

"Don't need you to babysit me. M'not gonna hurt myself."

"You already hurt yourself. What do you think this is doing to your body?"

"Making me feel better." He clumsily undid his jeans and let them drop, unbothered by Richard's presence.

"Is it?"

"Well, it ain't making me feel worse."

"A compelling argument."

"Fuck you, Robocop."

"Please go to bed," Richard said, stepping back beyond the boundary of the doorframe. "I'll be downstairs if you need me."

_so you do know my name_

"Don't need you," Reed muttered, and shoved the door to. The air pressure pushed it back open a half-inch, then an inch, a crack in his fucking armor that he didn't need.

But Richard wasn't in the doorway anymore. He was gone as silently as he'd ascended the steps behind Reed to begin with. It was maddening. Reed threw himself down on the bed and immediately regretted it. The world spun overhead and nausea set in.

What was it about this fucking android that took him completely off his guard? Richard made him fucking crazy. Made him have to confront parts of himself he hadn't thought about in years. Made him consider vulnerability a good thing. Made him say things he'd never said to anyone, not a boyfriend, not Eliza, not even his own mirror. And he was only going to be there for four more fucking months.

What was the point?

What was the point of any of this?

He hated having to think about what was going on inside of his head. He went between considering his own emotional constipation and his comforter's thread count until he fell asleep again, unhealthy, unhappy, with tremors running up his spine.

He wasn't satisfied.

\---

Reed slept the blissful brain-dead sleep of the righteous until a knock at the door spiralled him unceremoniously back to the physical plane. A knock? His front door, not his bedroom, distant through the dead air that coursed up the stairs.

The knocking stopped. Reed slid back into unconsciousness. He didn't have a grasp at the moment on whatever terrible thing had put him in bed in the middle of the morning with the sharp edges of a hangover caging his skull, but whoever had the balls to visit him at home could leave a note taped to the god damn door.

But the deep, authoritative voice speaking in hushed tones in his doorway had something in his subconscious on edge. He pried himself up -- damn it, he found himself wishing Richard had had the chutzpah to come in and pull the covers over him again, he was cold deep in his chest and sinuses -- and stealthily slunk to the door.

Richard's voice stopped mid-sentence. Reed heard him shift his weight, probably looking toward the stairs. He remained still.

Captain Jeffrey Fowler picked up the conversational gap Richard had left. "If he's awake, I'd like to speak to him."

"Captain, as touched as I'm sure he'd be, he should rest right now."

"Are you angry I suspended him?"

"I understand why it was necessary."

"But you're angry."

"Of course I'm angry. Not to diminish your responsibilities to the chief of police, but suspending a detective for the sake of avoiding political imbroglio can't be your best moment. It's bold of you to assume he wants to speak to you."

"It's fine," Reed finally spoke up from the landing. His head pounded, and his clothes and hair were irreparably rumpled, but he was upright. "You wanna come in, Jeff?"

The expression on Richard's face clearly read _Jeff?_ but he stepped aside without further cockblocking of their captain, who was midmorning resplendent in sweatpants and an old-school Detroit Police jacket. That thing had to be older than Reed.

"Digging the gym bunny look," Reed said, keeping his voice just this side of too dry to be polite. "What brings you by."

"I wanted to talk to you in private," Fowler admitted. "Maybe apologize."

"In private, huh? Well, anything you can tell me, you can tell me in front of my partner, right?"

"Gavin."

"Nope, no, I'm not on the clock until next Wednesday. You can shove your propriety right up your ass, Cap."

"He's taking his suspension very well," Richard said. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"It's my fucking house, Iron Giant."

"The Iron Giant took a missile for a group of strangers. I'd say i'm in good company." Richard turned on his heel. "I'll get you some tea, Captain."

"Brown noser," Reed muttered.

Fowler closed the door behind him and sat on Reed's couch. He left his jacket on. "Trouble in paradise?" The question sounded loaded, but Reed couldn't quite put his finger on how.

"Why are you really here?"

"I regret suspending you without speaking to you first," Fowler said. He rubbed his palms on his knees. Reed guessed it was cold enough outside for a man Fowler's age to feel like an idiot for leaving the house in gym clothes. The man wasn't even wearing a hat. "I didn't give you the benefit of the doubt."

"Okay..."

"It's been brought to my attention that your sense of commitment to your work doesn't tend to outweigh your temper. I was unfair to you. Benched you for the sake of politics."

"You here for you, or did someone send you?"

"Are you asking if Lieutenant Shaw interfered? No, she did not. Believe it or not, I have a conscience."

"I spoke to the Captain," Richard said flatly. He pressed a cup into Fowler's hand. The smell of green tea was suddenly overpowering. When had he bought green tea?

"Real subtle. Thanks." Reed shook his head.

"I don't pride myself on my subtlety."

"Yeah, you'll make a great fucking detective, Lieutenant Rick."

"Boys," said Fowler, voice steady with authority, "give me a fucking break."

Reed frowned. "C'mon. You show up at my house in the middle of the morning, interrupt a perfectly good hangover..."

"I'm not asking you to accept my apology, Gavin. I am asking you to hear me out."

"What, that wasn't the whole thing?"

"I did have more."

Reed folded his arms. The second "okay" he managed was markedly less tremulous.

"I can step outside," Richard said.

Fowler didn't budge.

"You serious? Jeff."

"Gavin, it's all right," Richard said.

Reed looked up at his partner, scowling, torn between telling him to fuck off and insisting Fowler to get to the point right then and there, decorum be damned. But in a blink Richard was picking up the cat food container from its place by the front door and stepped outside. The orange cat was already trotting across the parking lot to meet him.

"I'm surprised you're getting along this well," Fowler admitted. "Thought you'd be at each other's throats."

"You really think Lurch would nut up to me?"

"I think you're intentionally inflammatory on your best days."

"I don't pick fights with people on purpose. It's not my fault they're dickbags."

"You don't pick fights with people on purpose _anymore._ I've stayed out of your business with Lieutenant Shaw, but it's hard to ignore the good it's doing you."

"I don't like the way you say that. Makes it sound like I'm not doing any of the work."

"Let's not forget why you're there," Fowler said. "Picking fights has been your specialty since long before your ridiculous feud with Connor. I just wish you'd use it constructively."

"Yeah, and let's not forget why you're allegedly here. This ain't much of an apology. Kind of feels like you knew I'd be here so you're holding me hostage to pick on me."

"Gavin, I've known you your whole career. You've been a holy terror since before I even recruited you."

"Thanks."

"I've been hoping for a decade and a half that you'd get some god damn sense and work on yourself. You'd be a great weapon in the right hands."

"You just aren't those hands."

"Your own hands have to become the right hands, smartass. Have I been talking to empty air this whole time? Do you know you could have been an acting captain right now?"

"Yeah, so I've fucking heard."

"Lizzy told you."

"Yeah, _Lizzy_ dropped that little bombshell on me like she was telling me there was a new Italian place opening up downtown."

"Did you deserve it?"

"Listen--"

"Gavin, I'm sorry for prematurely judging you, but I've had almost twenty years of a very specific set of behavioral patterns to draw from."

"Oh, the old 'I'm sorry, but' trick. Thanks."

"It's the truth," Fowler shot back. "I wanted to check on you and make sure you weren't holed up in here drinking for two."

"Shows what you know." It was all he could do to not start pacing back and forth. He had to keep it together in front of Fowler. Had to prove he wasn't some weak-minded charity case, some soft heart, some Hank Anderson.

"You smell like whiskey."

"I watched my partner get shot in the head. Yes. I drank last night, okay?" 

"Gavin, I'm not here to judge you." Fowler rolled the hot mug back and forth in his hands and sipped from it. "Shit tastes like green tea."

"Yeah, that's what it is. Unless you're here to tell me I can come back --"

"They're expediting the investigation. I wanted to come let you know it's probably going to be less than a week. But you need some time off, Gavin. I want you to stay home until Wednesday regardless."

"Fuck," Reed sighed. The fire went out of him. It always did when Fowler kept up his calm-and-collected facade, especially when he knew how temperamental he could get. He also knew he couldn't say no without giving Fowler a reason to pull rank. "This gonna cut into the leave I saved up?"

"Consider this a freebie."

"I kinda feel like you're throwing me a pity party."

"Who cares? Take the fucking leave, Gavin."

"I don't want the leave," he snapped. "I want to come back to work. I don't want to think, okay?"

"You're not getting out of that appointment you missed with Lieutenant Shaw. Tomorrow. Nine AM sharp."

"Fine." 

"Richard already provided me a full report. I want the same from you when you're back at work." Fowler rose from the couch and passed Reed the barely-touched cup of tea. It smelled bitter but full-flavored.

Reed dumped it in the sink the moment Fowler was gone and lingered over the steam in the sink until it dissipated. The heat made the space between his fingers sticky, and the sensation caught in the bandages covering his knuckles. He supposed they weren't pretty. They certainly didn't _feel_ pretty.

When Richard returned the little mood ring on his temple was a yellow cache of evidence on his temple. Reed frowned at its blurry presence. Fuck, he was more hungover than he thought. Richard paused in the doorway and leaned in it, bare arms folded. Reed rubbed his face with both hands.

"So, about that story you wanted to tell me."

"You keep staring at my LED," Richard said.

"Great response. Really on point."

"It's related, which you'd know if you would stop insisting upon being aggravating."

Reed put a hand over his heart mockingly. "Aw, you think I'm aggravating."

"It really comes off like you... like you don't think I should have it."

"What?" Honestly, the thought had never occurred to Reed. He was an android, he had a circle on his face that let everyone know what was going on with him. So what? 

"To me it feels like you don't think I should be walking around looking so obviously -- not human."

"Didn't even occur to me," Reed shrugged. "I mean, you _aren't_ human. I just thought you kept it because you didn't think you should have to change."

The blatant surprise on Richard's face made him laugh. "I misread you."

Reed sat down carefully at the kitchen table and cradled his still-pounding head. "Can't say I blame you. I've kind of been a total dick to you."

"You're kind of a total dick to everyone."

"Yeah. It's not just you. So I'm gonna need you to back off and quit acting like you're a special case. This is just how I am."

"Does it have to be?"

"What?" Reed looked up through his fingers. Richard was unobtrusively seating himself across the table, backlit by the midmorning light streaming in through the kitchen window. It was hard to communicate without properly seeing his face.

"Do you have to be a total dick all the time?"

"Uh, yeah, that's my personality."

"That isn't a personality trait. That's an absence of personality. That's an excuse. A void."

"Look, buddy, I already have a therapist, so unless you got some magical fucking pill that's gonna fix my problems and my credit score I don't really want to talk about this with you."

"What's wrong with your credit score?"

"Nothing. Jesus. What did you want to tell me, again?"

"I'm not human," Richard said. "I don't want to be."

"Got it."

"Nothing I'm doing is in imitation of a human act. I struggle to communicate with you because there is... a language barrier, if you will."

"What, so that's your problem? You and Connor both?"

"Connor and I share the vast majority of our base code, but we have our share of differences."

"No shit."

"I have the most advanced programming of any android in existence," Richard proclaimed. He didn't look as proud as Reed would have expected him to. _I'm number one,_ he'd basically said, but it didn't seem to bring him any joy. "Statistically speaking, it was an inevitability that the RK800 series produce deviants. That was its purpose: to work out the flaws."

His voice was like still water. Dark, cold quarry water. It put a block of ice at the bottom of Reed's spine and inexplicably made something clench in his gut. "The whole reason Connor showed up at the precinct was to hunt down deviants."

"Correct."

"So... Connor was designed to fail? Does he know that?"

"He has all the information he needs to come to that conclusion. Whether he has or not is none of my business."

"Then what's your deal? How do we know you're not gonna go all Top Gun on us and ditch your prime directive?"

Richard frowned. "I suppose you mean 'go all' Maverick."

"You've seen Top Gun?"

"It's a movie about ignoring orders in favor of choosing your own path, whatever the cost. You'll find the genre is a favorite among my kind."

Reed shook his head. "Learn something new every day, I guess."

"The problem here is that I don't have a prime directive. I've never had instructions to obey. Just orders to follow. There is a difference."

"You've had plenty of instructions to obey."

"Social niceties? No. Those are still only a suggestion. There's nothing but loss of face to stop me from hitting you for pushing me too far, or following you into a shootout."

"Fantastic. Not threatening at all."

"There aren't any blueprints for me to revert back to."

"And you're, what, mad about that?"

"I'm not _mad._ That would be unreasonable. But there is an experience in common with most androids that I don't share."

"You can't think you were the only one to wake up without dog tags. ...Bad phrasing. Sorry."

"I told you I was the only active RK900 model. I _am_ the only one. The other models share a base compatibility."

"So you want to keep the LED."

"It would never occur to me not to do so."

"That's it," Reed abruptly said. Something distantly unreal, some log, turned over in his head and showed its damp-ripe underside, its hidden wealth of information that had been closed off to him before. "That's it. The victims."

"What?"

"They fell in love. _It would never occur to them not to do so."_ He stood and started pacing. It was hell on his aching head. He didn't care. "We've been looking at this like fucking detectives in a murder case and not like _people._ Shit."

"What do you _mean,_ Reed."

"I mean that's the Sons' problem with these people. They're targeting people just living their everyday lives. People who aren't afraid to be themselves."

Richard looked poised to jump on him. "Do you have a suggestion?"

Reed smiled. "Get in the middle," he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> greetings friends we back at it again with some uhhh *checks smudged writing on hand* emotions
> 
> [mint condition playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/ckeur605d1f9ggvo5hxb9t2jh/playlist/5tX2qV7JpkGOBwbn0LYPHV?si=8q9u3b7xRk6S60dAm4rk5g) (chapter 19's track is already on here, see what you can get out of it for spoilers!)  
>  [current writing playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/97uqw42x8wurnp3pw31jxr77x/playlist%20/39uWLc5G6Rk2wFVc2PYgbm?si=CTDRCO9vQvq3o-unPOS8xw)
> 
> if you got a moment or a dollar, here's how to [support](https://itsdefinitive.tumblr.com/post/179201182822/support) this gentle idiot


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